Originally Posted On 2019-09-12 By Dumb-and-jocked.
Originally posted on 2019-09-12 by dumb-and-jocked.
Comradirization
Jacob woke up with a start. His eyes were groggy, adjusting to what he assumed was the morning light. He shifted his arm, trying to scratch his head, but found he couldn’t move it. He flopped over, a little annoyed, and was surprised to find his arm handcuffed to one post of the bed. He tried to swing his other arm over, but found that it too was cuffed. He raised his head to look at his legs to discover that they were also chained to the beds. His whole body was locked to the four corners. Before he could panic anymore, Jacob realized he wasn’t alone in the room.
“Chacoob Kooglerr?”
In a chair next to the bed sat a young, rather handsome man. His defined body and proud beard made him look to be approaching his 30’s. He sat there confidently, his large thighs spread out as he sat there in just a small pair of white briefs. A small tattoo adorned his right arm, while the rest of his body looked as pure as an angel. Although he looked stunning, he didn’t smell it; Jacob noticed the lack of hygiene rather quickly. The man was trying to smile, but it looked more like an awkward smirk. What Jacob didn’t see coming was his thick Russian accent ruining his name. Jacob hadn’t done anything illegal or wrong, at least nothing that he thought would attract a Russian man to kidnap him.
“Vow do yoo zay eet?” the man asked, scaring Jacob. Jacob slowly pushed himself up to a comfortable sitting position, not knowing how to respond. He was too frightened to think of anything else. He had heard of people getting kidnapped before, but usually not by men who wore just their briefs.
“Ya get vaht I mean, yeh?” the Russian added. Jacob slowly shook his head, not knowing what else to do. The Russian grunted angrily, obviously irritated, before speaking again.
“Yoorrr name?” He tried to say it as clear as he could, but the exaggerated “oo” and rolling r’s brought him right back to square one.
“Oh,” Jacob replied, “Jacob Kugler.”
“Chacoob Kooglerr.” The Russian brought a hand to his face, smiling almost proudly, not realizing he had butchered the name the same as before.
“You Amereeican zand zyoorr dumb names.”
The Russian got up and walked throughout the apartment, grabbing items along the way. As he searched, Jacob took his time to figure out where he was. The room was fairly small, housing everything from a kitchen to a bedroom in it. It looked to be some sort of hotel suite, but Jacob couldn’t find any windows to tell. Jacob also realized that as he looked around the room, he found he probably wouldn’t be staying here long. The room looked clean and devoid of any decorations, in fact it barely seemed like a home at all. No photos, no scattered laundry, and Jacob quickly realized that his bed looked to be right after the staff maid had stepped in. He also discovered that he too was in a pair of small white briefs, not at all like the boxers he had last remembered wearing. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t recognized his barren body had been exposed to the world.
Speaking of memories, he couldn’t remember what he had been doing before waking up. He remembered walking out of his office early that morning to catch a meeting on the other side of town. That lead him to a train station, where he bought his tickets and went to the bathroom. Once he was in the room, the memory went black. Jacob was rather ordinary; he worked as an accountant, lived alone at 24, had a moderate build. His blond hair and blue eyes weren’t as appealing as they could have been. He wasn’t fat or skinny, tall or short, but he didn’t have enough muscularity to attract anyone of the opposite gender. In fact, the last time he had a girlfriend was in highschool. Jacob hadn’t really done much with his life yet, so he couldn’t figure out why he - out of anybody - would be kidnapped.
“I am Pasha Vajda,” he said, bringing over everything he had gathered, “Eet ees time to zbegin procezz.”
“What process?” Jacob said, shivering out of fear and being cold from his lack of clothes. Pasha slowly gathered his things and dumped it on a table behind the chair he originally sat in. First, Pasha brought over what looked to be a virtual reality headset, but it looked different than what Jacob was used to. First off, it was a dark red color, with yellow stripes across the back side. The straps that were meant to go around the head also looked different, being shaped more to look like a helmet. Jacob tried to fight back, but Pasha easily placed the device over his head. As soon as the goggles went over his eyes, Jacob felt the harness tightening, so hard it felt as if it was digging into his skull.
As Jacob sat there in quiet fear, Pasha placed the other items in their proper places. He brought over a small tube and linked one end over Jacob’s nose and mouth before hooking the other to a small tank with multiple compartments. He quickly placed two earbuds in Jacob’s ears while connecting the cord to an old iPhone, one that still even had the headphone jack. The last thing Pasha did was jump on the bed between Jacob’s legs, switching on the phone before opening a Russian music app.
“Zee,” Pasha began, “Eez my chob to zhelp creehte new comrrades.”
“New what?” Jacob said, still confused and struggling to escape.
“Eez zimple,” Pasha said, “ve need morre comrrades, yoo’ll be ze comrrades.”
Before Jacob could ask any more questions, Pasha tapped the first playlist that had appeared on his phone, titled “товарищество.” The playlist’s title was rather obvious, for Pasha knew the two would be sharing comradery very soon. Once it began to play the first track, Pasha tapped a button and switched on the VR headset. He leaned back and sat there with the phone in hand, his cocky smirk returning as the process began.
Jacob tried to protest again, but before he could his eyes were blasted with a bright light. As soon as they refocused, all he could see was a red and yellow spiral. Jacob tried to look away, but he was sucked in mere seconds. He didn’t even hear the playlist beginning, starting with the National Anthem of the USSR playing quietly. He also didn’t register when words slowly began flashing on the screen, flying in and out before his conscious mind could register anything, or when he had started to breathe the air being fed to him. A deep melodic voice also entered, saying the words that were disappearing fast, but only in Russian. Jacob tried to ignore everything that was happening, but it was all too easy for him to succumb. The process began smoothly, easing Jacob’s mind open for comradirization. The first set of messages flashed quickly on the screen.
“Real Men have facial hair.”
“Real Men do not clean themselves.”
“Real Men put brothers before others.”
“Real Men listen to other men.”
“Real Men only trust Russian Men.”
The messages were repeated for almost an hour before the first track ended. As soon as it was finished, Pasha pushed the headset up on top of Jacob's head and removed the tube from his face, allowing him to see and breathe fresh air again. Pasha pulled up a different app on his phone, showing the procedures of what to do after each segment of the playlist.
Jacob sat there dazed. He knew his mind had been flooded with certain commands, but he had no idea of what. He was still in the weird apartment, still kidnapped and in white briefs. He was still tied up, both of his hands still cuffed to the bed; the only difference from before was that Pasha now sat right in front of his crotch. Strangely, he was fairly comfortable with the situation. It must have been the essence of the Russian Man sitting in front of him, Jacob could only trust Russian Men after all.
“So,” Pasha began, “khow long ya khad ze faczial khairr?”
His accent was still as thick as ever, but Jacob understood what Pasha was asking fairly well. Jacob brought a hand to his face and itched his subtle beard. It wasn’t large, but definitely worthy of praise.
“Ever since I could grow it.”
Pasha smirked and looked at his notes before continuing, “Ven Vas ze last zime ya zhowyerred?”
Jacob thought back to the last time he’d been in a bathroom, or water for that matter. The rising stench around him suggested it had been a while, but Pasha had a noticeable funk too. Jacob didn’t care that he smelled however - real men were supposed to reek.
“I don’t remember.”
Pasha smirked again before he leaned over and placed the equipment back on Jacob. The Russian Man told him to stay still, and Jacob, knowing to listen and only trust Russian Men, did just that. Everything was loaded back on and set to its proper settings before the second track begun. New words flashed along the screen with a new scent. The last one was plain, filtered air, but the one being fed to Jacob was now raunchy, sweaty, and extremely pungent. Jacob would have vomited at how odorous the new scent was, but he was too busy absorbing the new Russian commands to care.
“Real Men work out every day.”
“Real Men are proud of their bodies.”
“Real Men only respect Russian Men.”
“Real Men are only comrades with Russian Men.”
“Real Men wish to be Russian Men.”
The second track played for a little longer than the first, causing Pasha to get a little impatient, so he began to pleasure himself. Once it had ended, Pasha awkwardly found himself halfway through trying to bust a load. Not having time to finish, he quickly removed Jacob’s gear and began the next set of questions. As he asked away, he non-subtly stroked his massive steel rod, knowing Jacob was far enough along that he wouldn’t mind.
“Ya verrk out?” Pasha asked. Jacob looked down proudly at his built body. Of course he had worked out, you couldn’t be born with a body like this. He had large pecs, beautiful abs, strong biceps, and don’t even start him on his sculpted legs. Jacob made sure to always get every part of his body, ranging from the sculpted shoulders to sculpted buttocks.
“Of course I work out, bro! I always know when to get in a sesh,” Jacob replied, not noticing the jockish gym lingo influencing his deeper voice.
“Goud,” Pasha replied, “Vat do ya zink of Ruzjians?”
“I think they’re incredible. In fact, I’d say there the best!” Jacob had greatly adored the Russian race as long as he could remember. It was a deep passion of his.
“I’d be a Russian and only be friends with them if I could!” Jacob exclaimed excitedly, allowing Pasha move onto the next part of the process.
Pasha swiftly tilted himself up and once more placed the gear upon Jacob’s head. As he did, his exposed, leaking cock rubbed up against Jacob’s torso. Jacob shivered, the touch of a real, Russian man thrilling him. Once Pasha was finished, he leaned back and activated the next stage. Russian commands were fired through the earbuds again, but this time the words in front of Jacob’s eyes were now in Russian too. The gas from the tube was also replaced, now filled with a dark, yellowly liquid that flowed down Jacob’s gullet. The burning pain of the constant piss wasn’t even enough to take him out if his comradirization.
“Real Men have Russian as their first language.”
“Real Men do anything for Russian Men.”
“Real Men only love Russian Men.”
“Real Men are gay for Russian Men.”
“Real Men are Russian Men.”
After another hour of pounding commands into Jacob’s skull, Pasha removed the gear. This time, Jacob’s head really hurt, like he had just studied hours for a hard test. He brought up his hands to rub his temples, also itching at the short, brown-colored sports cut. When he opened his eyes again, Pasha sniggered as he noticed their new, dullish brown tone. Once the headache had passed, Jacob made eye contact with Pasha, feeling flushed as he observed the beautiful man in front of him. His cock began to inflate in his tight briefs, a full three inches longer due to his improved, Russian heredity. He was so infatuated with the male in front of him that he didn’t even realize he was no longer imprisoned, or the lukewarm cum drying on his pecs.
“Who do you love most in your life?” Pasha asked, speaking in full Russian.
“Um…” Jacob answered back in Russian, his thought process noticeably slower, “I dunno…”
Pasha wasn’t satisfied with his answer. As if a lightbulb flashed in his head, Pasha popped up with an idea. He leaned over to Jacob, giving his cock a quick tug. Jacob moaned in response, before muttering out, “I love other Russian Men.”
“Good,” Pasha said before continuing, “Where are you originally from?”
“Russia,” Jacob announced proudly, and as soon as the words were said, the equipment was replaced for the final part.
Pasha clicked a few apps on his phone before sinking up the last section of the playlist. The end of the comradirization was always the most difficult, as so many important parts were involved. First off, two new machines were added: a milking mechanism and an infusion pump. Pasha carefully placed each of the objects in their respective locations; one would inject the Russian sperm and the other would make room for it. The other component that made the ending the hardest was that if it didn’t go absolutely perfect, the whole process could fall apart. Pasha had to make sure everything was ready as he began the final section of the process. The final words flashed on the screen and paired track began to play. This time, lots of messages flooded the screen, while the rest of the equipment pumped Jacob’s body into the prime, Russian Man he was soon to become.
“Russian Men obey the stereotype.”
“Russian Men love football.”
“Russian Men drink vodka.”
“Russian Men love to smoke.”
“Russian Men have deep voices and are dumb jocks.”
As the new reality set in, Jacob’s mind became flooded with new memories. Memories of growing up in Russia, going to school with Pasha, learning how to be an incredible forward in soccer football, and making out with other hot, Russian Men in the locker room. The smell of vodka and nicotine always on their breaths as they passionately kissed.
“Russian Men never smile.”
“Russian Men reminisce the USSR.”
“Russian Men are Orthodox Christian.”
“Russian Men are abrasive, arrogant, and rude.”
“Russian Men are alphas.”
The milking machine chugged away, pulling out every bit of Jacob’s cum as the better, more powerful Russian semun was pumped into his veins. Pasha loved seeing the man become a comrade right in front of him. Jacob’s growing body pulsated out towards Pasha. Jacob’s once-scrawny legs not stretched over the edge of the bed, his feet bloating to a massive Size 16 - just like Pasha’s.
“Russian Men are superior above all other men.”
“Russian Men want all men to be Russian Men”
“Russian Men want to comradirize all other men.”
“Russian Men want to make all other men their Russian brothers.”
“Russian Men are Vadja Men.”
Once the final track had ended, Pasha removed all of the gear and towed it away. He placed the white briefs back over the now goliath dick and tucked the large, Russian Man into the bed. The new comrade had passed out, the final part overloading his smaller brain. Pasha cleaned up before leaving, his job done. He was ready to find the next person to comradiraze.
— —
Yakov woke up in his small apartment, the smell of a smoky, alcoholic locker room pleasantly filling his nose. He flipped over and slapped his large feet on the floor, the meaty sound echoing throughout the small room. He walked over to the dirty kitchen, grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter, and turned on the small television to reveal a Russian football game.
As he took a swig, he picked up his old phone and looked through his notifications. He had forgotten to close out of the comradirization tracks; he could be such a dumb jock sometimes. As he scrolled through a Russian, gay dating app, a text popped up at the top of the screen. He clicked it, seeing that it was his brother: Pasha Vadja. He clicked the tab as the first set of Russian letters filled his screen.
Pasha: hey brother
Yakov: hey comrade
Pasha: how’s my little Vajda doing
Yakov: its Yakov Vadja, not little, I’m as big as you
Pasha: yeah whatever. hope you’re ready to go make some comrades
Yakov: yeah, I’ll get to it real quick
Pasha: send me a pic of you first, for fun
Yakov: alright, just a sec
Yakov heaved off the couch, mad that he had to tear himself away from the intense football game. He crouched down in front of the mirror by the bed and posed, making sure to get the best angle. Yakov knew that his brother would nut over this, and he knew he probably would too later. First things first, he had to go make some more comrades first. He was excited just thinking about it. He looked in the mirror and then at his phone before taking the pic. He was so glad that he couldn’t smile, it made him look much sexier. He quickly sent the pic to his brother, ready to go comradirize.
More Posts from User211201 and Others
Definitely am a proud gay guy but i've definitely seen a few of these gay to straight tfs and they're hot af! Your writing makes me want to transform myself, hit the gym, and chug a beer with the bros regardless of sexuality!
You're letting this affect you the right way, my man. All my readers should learn from you.
It's been feeling so natural, hasn't it? The way your cock starts to grow fat in your underwear the minute I start describing a hot chick. All those guys you used to hate, the ones you roll your eyes at and claim so proudly to be different than, there's something about them that has you fascinated. You can't help it. It's like some part of yourself, deep down, is calling out to be realized. To be brought to the surface.
To be set free from the cage you've been building. You love the way I make these straight bros speak, the way they act with snide arrogance, so sluggish and dumb and yet so primal. An apex predator, an alpha, a handsome stud with rippling abs and huge biceps always flexed. A cocky smirk, a strong jaw. Not to mention the forests of damp hair beneath his arms, the sour stench of sweat, cum, and sex lingering around his body like noxious gas. He's a stink bomb that is continuously going off.
You love how he belches, how he farts and blames it on the protein, how all he cares about are his brothers. Toxic masculinity really isn't so bad when you're standing on this side of the fence. Your feet are starting to feel secure on the ground, aren't they? Wide, and long, and so firm. Dusted with wiry curls of dark hair. You feel sweat squelch between your fat toes, but you pay it no mind. You think about being surrounded by your bros, how they'll joke about your huge feet and how you must have a massive cock, too. You love the kind of men I write about. You want their respect, their approval, their brotherhood so badly.
You are the kind of man I write about. Because if your cock is getting so hard to the idea of embracing traditional masculinity, if you're about to start jerking your cock to the descriptions I will soon make, then the truth has already revealed itself. I barely have to change anything. Your bones crack and shift, your shoulders grow broad and your nose is strong, your brow harsh and your eyes blazing with dominance. Your body inflates with courage, with conceit, as your leaking, lengthening cock already starts to ooze a thick wad of pre. It's so easy to reshape the outside. Pump up the muscles, make the features a little more rugged, all I'm really doing is making the outside match the inside.
There's a familiar voice that sounds like your own calling out, demanding you to snap out of it, to value your identity and what you know to be true, that this is just a fetish and the world you're stepping into isn't the right one. But it feels so natural, so good, as that whiny voice gets drowned out under the low, domineering tone that makes its home inside your head. I want my cock in a wet cunt, the new you drawls, your wider hips bucking with pleasure and your fat cock jiggling in your tight underwear. You can see the engorged veins beneath the fabric, the fat cock head oozing pre and leaving a splotch. It jerks in place, bobs up and down, it wants so desperately to be plunged between a pair of bouncing, fat, silicone filled tits.
You throw your head back with a low, masculine moan, your meaty hand reaching down to grab your package, stroking your thumb along the shaft. Every trace of the old you, the lie you were telling, is eradicated beneath a tidal wave of new information. All that fancy college learning goes down the drain, all those old dreams and desires and falsehoods, all that's left is a powerful, straight conservative man who knows exactly what he wants. He has never questioned his instincts a day in his life, he has always known he has been an unrivaled male specimen. Wasting his superior seed and not siring a shit ton of sons would be a crime.
Your seed.
It swells in your balls, it makes you ache and tingle, all of the feelings and lust that are taking over belong to you. There's no going back. You're one cocky fucker, a man sculpted by genetics and a conservative upbringing, a man who has always known where he stands in the hierarchy. At the fucking top, with your massive muscles exposed and your fat cock pointing at the next babe it wants to erupt inside of. You continue to jerk your cock, losing all memory of my stories and my silly little kinks, all too happy to spend a night being pleasured by your callused fist knowing it'll take you no effort to get hard again. You think about which bitch you're gonna call later, the blonde with the bee stung lips or the sexy goth, and your cock pulses with the need to impregnate a fertile womb.
Your mind settles into a happy haze of sports knowledge, cockiness, and camaraderie for your fellow traditional man. Most of all, forever filling the empty space of your brain, what remains of you will be wedged in eternity between the hot, breedable women you can't go an hour without daydreaming about. A hot blonde and a brunette with huge tits are scissoring in your mind, making your red blooded cock surge with need and lust. Every last essence of the gay man you once were is smothered between rubbing folds, bouncing breasts, and oozing pussy juice. This loss of self doesn't bother you. It doesn't really feel like you're losing anything at all.
You blow your load all over your chest, basking in the afterglow for all of ten seconds, and then you lift your muscled leg and squeeze out a droning protein fart. The strong smell makes you proud, and the loud sound makes you chuckle like an idiot. Life is going to be so simple, so correct for you from now on. No going back, only forward.
Go ahead and shoot a message to your future baby mama. It's time for you to breed.
Roommate Needed Six
--- Want to read more? View all stories by TheBurdenBorne ---
After a few cold days to remind us it was October, the sun decided to come out one last time. It seemed that everyone on campus was making the most of the nice weather. Many were wearing shorts , probably for the last time and schoolwork was the last thing on everyone's mind. As I walked back from class, I noticed a group of five guys playing basketball at the public court. A muscular blonde with red and white shorts went for a long shot. The ball bounced of the rim towards the sidewalk and road. I stopped the ball from rolling into the street and picked up.
"Thanks man," said the blonde as he trotted towards me, sweat glistening down on his shirtless chest.
"Hey Luke," called one of his teammates. "Ask him if he wants to join in. Three on three."
"That's okay," I said as I offered him the ball. "I haven't played in years."
"You sure," said Luke as he grabbed the ball. He looked me straight in the eye and added, "I mean, it's such a nice day and all."
At that moment something stirred inside me. These guys seemed nice enough. None of my friends played any sports and I had always liked basketball in high school.
"What the heck," I answered, following Luke back to the court.
"All right! Thanks dude!" said one of the guys. "I'm Dave. You gonna go shirts or skins?"
"Shirts ... for now," I responded, feeling a little bit awkward. These guys were clearly gym buffs and I was far from it. Everyone on the team introduced themselves. I would be on the shirts team with Dave and Chris, against Joey, Luke, and Sean. We were evenly matched, except I was clearly the smallest guy.
The game began slowly, but as soon as I was given the ball, I felt a new sense of confidence in me. I dribbled past Sean and sunk a short jump shot. When I landed I felt stronger and faster.
"Nice shot," said Dave.
After a few more minutes of playing, I was starting to get into a groove, like I was in perfect form physically. Our team was beginning to pull ahead.
"Water break," said Joey.
The sweat had begun to run down my shirt, so I pulled it off. Underneath, I was surprised to see that I had no tan lines. I never went shirtless, so I was very pale, but today, I had a perfect tan. My body has also grown larger and thicker. My chest was thick with muscle and my abs were well defined. I used my shirt to wipe down the sweat.
"Alright, so how about you go over to skins, because we'd kill them otherwise. Just trade with Luke," said Dave.
"Cool by me, bro," I said, giving him a high five, surprised for three reasons. 1) I never used the word "bro" or gave high fives, 2) I hardly knew these people, and 3) I was completely relaxed being part of this team, like I had played with them for months.
We played for another hour, trading teams and just messing around. I had a couple nice dunks, since I was the tallest and biggest player. We gave each other high fives, fist bumps, and made crude jokes. By the end of the game, they had all taken to calling me Brett. Which as far as I could remember was my name. When we left the court to walk home, I had completely forgotten my life before basketball and these bros of mine.
Drug Trials: Part 2
Three men in lab coats walk into a dimly lit room. Three additional men in military uniforms, decorated with medals, are already seated at one end of a long table. One of the coats speak up. "Generals I'm glad you could all make it." "How is Project Alpha coming along?" the military man in the center chirps. "Oh it was a resounding success, our subject Brian, exhibited muscular hypertrophy far beyond initial projections. The only unexpected complication was a hypertrophy of the genitals and marked increase in libido, but we're already investigation mitigation strategies." The three generals murmur among themselves for a short while, looking over the papers infront of them. "Excellent, these numbers look very good... Are these the subjects for the next project? ."
"Ah yes" the coat in the corner replies, "Subjects Z and W are social media and fitness stars, ensuring a rigorous test of the accuracy of the procedure. " "Good, begin work on Project Chameleon. "
I wake up to the smell of coffee coming from my bedside table. "Hmmm my bro must of made some for me. Dam he's such a good brah!" I roll over to pick it up but my body feels funny, lighter maybe. Probably just a side affect of the drug trail me and my best friend and roommate decided to participate in. I mean $10,000 to get injected with some experimental drug? Why not!? There was alot of paper work and contracts we had to sign but I mean 10k!
Still half asleep I pick up the steaming cup and take a sip. The brown brew waking me up from my grog. "Man this must be good stuff, I already feel so energized! Idk if I've ever felt this good!"
I hear clanking from the kitchen.
"BRO!! You making breakfast?" hmm was my voice always that deep?
-"Heck yeah brah! Come get some! Got a nice sausage just for you! "
Was his voice deeper too! ? My ears must be stuffed up or something.
I finally sit up, put on my glasses and pick up my coffee to get out of bed. I walk by my wardrobe mirror and I almost drop the cup from shock.
Immediately I'm stunned, my previous average body was now anything but. Nothing but tight, thick muscle under perfectly tanned skin. A six pack where once it was flab, arms as thick as my legs once were.
Even my face, once the mug of a man who would blend into any crowd, was not that of one of the top models. Not blemish anywhere and a jaw that could cut diamonds.
"Fuck..." was all I could say as I felt and flex each of my new muscles.
Even my underwear was changed, going from ugly old loose boxers, to a pair of sexy tight Calvin's. I could ever feel that my package was now so massive, it felt like it would rip thought the my new underwear.
"Oh fuck, what's my bro gonna think!?" as I dart into the kitchen.
What the fuck! My best bro and roommate was now almost an exact copy of myself, all the muscle, all the looks. We were like twins. He hears me enter and turns around.
His new massive cock hangs out from his jeans, nowhere near hard but already a thick 9 inches long.
-"Sup brah! You ready for some sausage?" he says as his cock begins to harden and grow. It was now a rock hard 13 inch fuck stick, and already dripping with pre.
The sight of my twin alpha God got me rock hard as well, my own giant cock presses painfully against my tight underwear. The fabric quickly loosing the power of my new dick, and tearing, revealing my own 13 inch horse cock.
"What the fuck bro!? What happened to us."
- "Don't know brah. But I think I'm called Wyatt now and your called Zach"
Yeah, Zach... Zach... And my twin bro Wyatt. That's us bro. Two alpha as fuck sick cuntz. Showing off and filling holes with our cum everywhere we go. The knowledge of these strangers suddenly filling my head.
- "So we gonna have breakfast or what?"
Wyatt's rock hard cock was now dripping with full on cum, as was my own.
With our new enhanced bodies, we fucked for hours. Each time we came, it only seemed to make our libido even stronger. The small shared apartment we shared was soon covered in a thick layer of our cum, the smell of testosterone filling the air.
-"Bro, that was so fucking good. But my cock is still rock hard."
Suddenly, an intense urge to show off and be seen comes reflexively.
"Brah, let's head out and get some new followers and pic for the 'gram huhu"
We both put on a pair of boxers to cover our raging boners, and headed out. Immediately we were getting stares and tones of attention. A few people even came involuntarily as they saw us walking down the street and catching a whiff of our superior pheromones.
Once an a while, a cute guy would walk by and catch our eye. Our horse cocks snaking down our legs, already dripping and bulging clearly in our skimpy underwear, was all that we needed to say. They would soon be continuing on their way, now with 2 gallons of our cum inside them.
We soon saw a cute guy coming from the local gym who couldn't keep his eyes off us, and we both knew he would be a great cum dump for the night. A simple "Sup" and he was ours, but not before snapping a pic for the likes.
Index
Here is an index of all my stories, easy(er) to search !
Since all my stories are quite unique, I will list them in chronological order (newest on top), with main genres specified.
Enjoy !
================================================
Original stories
That Day No One Cared (Mental Change/Corruption) - as part of @occamstfs' Viral Transformation Stories.
A Willing Puppet (Preppy tf/Identity Change) - for @fafnir19 as part of the Secret TF Writers Swap
Reiwa Rīzento (Greaser tf/Mental Change)
Conversion Powder by Eamora Co. (Gay to Straight/Straight to Gay)
Do Not Forget Who You Are (Muscle Growth/Muscle Loss/Queer Romance)
The Beatty Files (Twink tf/Muscle Loss)
How Can One Move On ? (Body Swap/Nerd to Jock)
Allahu Akbar (Muslim tf/Beard Growth/Mental Change)
A Proper Discussion (Multiple tfs/Satirical) - for April Fool's 2024
Curing the Neighborhood (Hairstyle tf/Himbo tf/Infection tf)
Consultation at Dr. Davod's : Part 1 (Hairstyle tf/Fuckboy tf), Part 2 (Hairstyle tf/Himbo tf/Reality Change) - 200 followers special
The Chechen Mod (Chechen tf/Jock tf/Queer Romance)
Investing in China (Chinese tf/Twink tf/Reality Change)
The Party at Delta Omega Gamma (Frat Bro tf/Himbo tf)
The Good Side of Life is One Good Action Away (Fuckboy tf/Non-binary tf)
Identity in Language and Thought (Tiktok tf/Mass tf)
The True Self (Douchebag tf/Corruption/Straight to Bi)
The Berkley Hills' Abandonned Frat House (Jock tf/Frat Bro tf)
The Business School's Poster-Boy (Twink to Jock/Jock to Twink)
I Am Chris Albanese (Age Reduction/Jock tf/Straight to Gay)
Unfair Competition (Nerd to Jock)
Collaborations/Reblog chains
Anyone feel like transforming me ? (Khmer tf/Bokator tf ~ Boxer tf) - from @transform4u
Your last like is your new body (Moroccan tf/Beard Growth) - from @newchangestf
Asks
Heureux Soit Celui qui Demande Sans Donner (Jock tf/Nationality Change)
DBPWH (Hairstyle tf/Jock tf/Dumbing Down) - from @alphajocklover
Immersing Myself in the Culture (Nahua tf/Twink tf) - from @peepshow321
Of Hairy Arab Men (Arab tf/Hair Growth)
Other
My recommended writers
My stance on Gay to Straight : Part 1, Part 2
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He looked into mirror, starring intently at his reflection and said it, practically as a whisper “bro”
He shuddered violently, instantly experiencing such an intense wave of nausea he had to hold on to the sink to prevent himself from passing out.
He tried to catch his breath and looked back up at his reflection intently. Nothing seemed to have changed except for maybe his rigid posture and the determination in his eyes. Of course his body was going to resist. He was going against everything he was and thought he wanted to be for so long.
But that was about to change. His best friend went though it, the guy he had a crush on most of his life but dared not say it… now he was something completely different, something they used to despite. He felt a flicker of it inside him already, ready to grow. He gripped the sink harder this time and said it again… “bro”
It was easier and more obvious this time as he kept his eyes locked on his reflection. Same wave of nausea, but the body shiver was accompanied by something more, a new wave of golden color to his skin, a clearing of his complexion, dissolving of a layer of fat. He watched as he gained a few inches in height and waist rose to sink level. He already looked so much better. But he had to commit. No turning back now. “bro”
Less nausea more pleasure this time as everything about him became larger. The facial changes were even more dramatic compared to the subtle differences before- jawline, full lips, thin eyebrows and growing full curly head of hair. Noticing the changes was accompanied by a new rush and swell in confidence not just muscle. This wasn’t a feeling he was used to when seeing himself naked, but here he was hot and beautiful and the high just made his head numb with bliss and pleasure. This was it. He was becoming one. A “bro”
Now his voice sounded deeper. Still gripping the sink he see his arms flex and pump with new muscle. Everything about him screamed gym rat, jock, no- look at that ass swell- fuckboy. Yeah. That was more like it. His waist was well above the sink now, just hiding the monster member growing below. Fuck it felt good. The empty head made so much sense now with all the urges and hunger pumping through his veins. Hell yeah. No goin back. He wanted to flex, he wanted to lift, he wanted to fuck. But first. Looking into the mirror. Thirsting at everything he was becoming. He smirked and said… “bro”
A New Delivery Service
Jimmy picked up the delivery order from the city’s newest, most overpriced, most overrated fusion restaurant, put the delivery bag into his backpack, and stepped out of the door to unlock his bike. He hated menial, brainless, shit jobs like this, ones that got him absolutely no where and ones where the people he dealt with were reliably all motherfuckers. He couldn’t complain too much, though. He got to create his own hours, the constant to-and-from gave him plenty of exercise to maintain his lean figure, he could put in his ear buds and get paid to ride around town listening to music, and there were other perks of the job.
He unwrapped the lock on his bike and put it back in his bag and then pulled out his phone. He clicked back to the delivery app and confirmed that the order had been picked up and waited for the app to load the directions to the drop-off location. His phone chimed as the delivery address was mapped out.
“Bitch, what the fuck??” Jimmy huffed out loud and dropped his jaws at the location. The home he was to deliver the food to was on the literal opposite side of town, up the gradual sloping hill on which the whole town was built, and was apparently a 45 minute biking route. To make matters worse, the app guaranteed a delivery time to its customers within a half-hour window, and docked it from the deliverer’s pay if that window was lapsed.
“Nuh-uh, nope,” Jimmy shook his head and flipped through the app, making his way to the employee support portal. This called for taking advantage of those ‘other perks’ of the job.
He arrived at the ‘Delivery Assistance’ tab of the employee support portal and entered in the details of the delivery. Well, actually he flubbed the details a bit. Exaggerated the delivery distance, over-estimated the weight of the delivery, maybe inflated some more numbers here and there... What the hell, what the company didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
He leaned back after hitting submit, watching the spinning wheel on his phone that indicated that his request was being processed. He anxiously tapped his heel against the pavement awaiting the response, when his phone vibrated.
Request granted!
• Enhancement : current stats X 3
• New delivery time estimate : 20 min.
• Duration of enhancement : 1 hour 20 minutes
Jimmy only had time to wheeze out a shocked laugh as he felt his phone send a jolt through his arm. He was no slouch, but three times his current stats?? And for an hour and twenty minutes?? Talk about a lucky fucking break!
His body immediately tensed up as a high moan suddenly escapes his lips, and he could feel himself spreading upwards and outwards. His calves dropped any hint of body fat and tightened, feeling slightly like a leg cramp, but then loosened as thick muscle twisted up the length of his claves and thighs. He felt his ass lift off his seat with a giggle as his cheeks packed on dense meat. It traveled up his back and torso, carving his back, sides, and abs into a sculpted work of art as he felt his pecs begin to bounce. They thudded bigger and bigger as he looked down and giggled with a deeper and deeper moan, taking a handful of each new massive tit in each hand, his breath quickening as he felt his neck widen and thicken while his shoulders rolled forward. As his shoulders pushed outwards to accommodate his still-growing size, they bursted larger with bulging definition. His flexed his already massive arms as he continued playing with his tits and playing with his nipples. His arms had always been his most treasured feature that he kept proudly displayed with a tank top, and now firm muscle snaked down the expanse of his limbs, rising to the surface and bulging into twisting pythons of muscle. His arms crossed as he flexed and felt the new size of his bulging peaks of muscle. He threw his head back in a way-too-loud groan—garnering plenty of stares from pedestrians—at the next sensation. ‘Guess they haven’t fixed the bug yet,’ he thought with a grin as he felt his cock stir to life within his shorts. His typically 4 inch softie bloomed outward, snaking down his thigh and fattening considerably into a soft 12 inch hog, and quickly swelling into an unwieldy, throbbing 18 inch pecker, a considerable increase from his typically 6 inch hard-ons.
Request complete! Proceed to your destination.
He grinned down at his phone and wheezed another small laugh. He should be grateful that they hadn’t fixed that bug, especially considering some of the incredible shit they unfortunately got rid of with software updates. One of the older bugs was what actually turned him onto working for the app. One of his exes was a delivery biker for the app and would often surprise him all the time as a horned-up 9 foot giant hunk—sometimes smaller, sometimes bigger—to fuck him raw and shower him with unbelievable excesses of cum. Sometimes he’d even get big enough that Jimmy could do pull-ups on his rock hard cock hanging stiffly in the air or even use his ex’s cock slit as another hole during their impromptu lovemaking. Enough local prudes complained to the company that they were sick of seeing a bunch of horny muscular giants running around the city, so they eventually ‘fixed’ it, if you can call it ‘fixing.’
Jimmy couldn’t get over the fact that he had so much time allotted with his enhancements. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten such a long time to enjoy his enhancements… Actually, that wasn’t true. The last time was about 2 weeks ago when he finished a delivery way ahead of time and met his boyfriend at the park after. They both loved when the enhancements came through, they were a great means of keeping things hot, impassioned, and adventurous in the relationship. But most times, Jimmy only ever gets a X 1.5 or an X 2 stat enhancement, rarely ever above that. He was a fucking beast now with his X 3 enhancements, and he intended to share his new beast body with others.
He kicked up the kickstand on his bike and pushed off the ground, feeling the wind blow past his face as his new body propelled him on his bike through the air at a speed much higher than he was used to. He grinned as he pedaled up the hill, barely breaking a sweat, and dialed up his friend Pete, a coworker-turned-friend veteran in his early 40s that was stuck in the gig economy cycle like millions of other workers.
He was already a pretty hunky guy—he always joked about thanking the government for giving him his ‘superman body’ but fuck all beyond that—and he was a hell of a lay, too. Jimmy thought maybe he’d be down to party.
He held the button on his earbud and waiting for the ding. “Call Pete,” he said in a deep voice, the confirming ding echoing afterwards and putting through his call. It rang a few times until someone picked up.
“Yyyyello?” Pete answered with his typical goofy greeting for Jimmy.
“How’s it hanging, boss?” Jimmy replied with a grin. He always loved talking to Pete. He would have considered him sort of a father figure if they weren’t such good friends and even better fuck buddies.
“Currently delivering to the west side, buddy. Enjoying a X 1.5 enhancement on top of it, thank you kindly to my benevolent corporate overlords.”
“X 1.5?! Nice, dude, so they got Super-Superman out here delivering food to the masses now?”
“The people gotta eat, Jimmy!”
“And eat they will! I’m sure a lot of them would prefer a taste of your specialty. What was it today, extra long sausage rolls?”
“You know it! All day, every day my guy!” he responded cheerfully as they both laughed. A brief, semi-awkward pause laid over the conversation. “By the sound of your voice, it seems like I’m not the only one here rocking some enhancements.” There was a slight eagerness in his voice.
Jimmy’s heart leapt as he turned the corner to head further up the hill, his cock twitching and drooling out some pre as it rested stiffly against his tree trunk thigh and snaked out of the leg of his shorts. Jimmy looked down at his massive arms and only got harder. “Guilty as charged, dude.”
“How big, bro?” Jimmy could hear the smile in Pete’s voice.
“Oh, you know, just X 3.”
“X 3?! Shit, well then I guess you and I are pretty evenly matched!” He was right! Jimmy smiled and looked down at himself. Fuck, he loved looking down and seeing a porn star body. The developers had to know what they were doing when they made this feature. And come to think of it, he was basically the same size as Pete now, except almost double the package size, thanks to the system bug.
“I’d say you’re right! Buuut,” Jimmy bit his lip feeling a grin stretch across his face. “I think I have, well… about 3 times more the package you do.”
“Woof, shit… I guess I can deduce that you’re not talking about your delivery order! You’re making my mouth water, stud,” Jimmy could hear the grin in his voice as he painted on his bike. “Making my cock water a bit too, if you know what I mean!”
“I think I do, Pete. I think I do.” Jimmy kept pedaling up the hill while a silence hung over the line for a second. Jimmy could feel his bulging size press against itself as he leaned over to pedal harder. “So… Meet up at the park bathroom after our delivery runs?”
“Fuuuck yes, man! Haha, I was beginning to worry you’d never offer!” Pete chuckled to himself for a second. “Now this is gay culture: two alpha studs swapping spit and jizz in a public bathroom.”
“It’s what our forefathers and foremothers would’ve wanted,” Jimmy quipped back, suddenly realizing something. “OOOOHH I think Richie is working today. Wanna make it a party?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, the more the merrier!”
“Awesome. Either way, I’ll see you in like 10, good?”
“Good. Keep it stiff for me, stud.”
Jimmy smiled and hung up. That would be no problem; he’d been fully cocked since he heard Pete’s voice, and his unnaturally large cock head was poking out of his shorts by now, leaking sticky pre onto his thigh as he pedaled. He just hoped Richie could join in on the fun.
Jimmy knew that Richie only worked a few days out of the week, but took only the biggest jobs when he did. He loved the extra money, sure, but he loved the enhancements more. Jimmy could remember more than a few occasions that he ran into Richie while he was looking like some body builder fetishist’s giant, sweaty, throbbing wet dream. It was comically different from what Richie was like outside of work. If you saw him on his work days versus his short, twiggy appearance and demeanor on his off days, you’d think they weren’t even related.
He tapped the button on his earpiece again, “Call Richie,” and listened to the ringtone. After a few rings, the line answered.
“YOOOOOOOO,” Jimmy heard a thundering, impossibly deep voice answer.
Jimmy’s grin widened. They’d need a bigger bathroom.
--- Originally posted on 2020-10-01 by breedertfs ---
--- Want to read more? View all stories by breedertfs ---
OnlyWishes
When Tim’s boyfriend jokingly wished to be an OnlyFans star so that he could help pay off their bills for the month, Tim had only laughed and shoved the twink playfully. “Sure, babe. Just as long as I’m in all of your videos.”
Little did they know, I was listening. Two wishes for the price of one are rare, but I was feeling generous that day. If Tim’s boyfriend wanted to be a star and rake in the cash, then I could make it happen. Things just had to change.
Skinny blonde twinks are boring. They’re just a quick web search away. He wanted to be every gay boy’s forbidden desire? So be it. Watch him start to stretch taller, watch his muscles begin to bloat, smell him sweat like a pig.
All Tim can do is look on in fear as before his eyes his sweet boyfriend is quickly replaced by another man. A flash of blue light and then the form of a hulking monster taking over everything that made Tim’s boyfriend… well, his boyfriend.
“Fuck, bro,” is all the new beast cares to say, smelling like the inside of a gym sock and smirking like he’s done something worthwhile. This isn’t Tim’s boyfriend, not anymore. Tim’s boyfriend hadn’t been an OnlyFans star.
“Time for a new video,” the bro says, stomping closer to Tim. That’s when he remembers his own wish, to be in every video with his boyfriend, glancing down to see the thick python straining the stranger’s sweatpants. But then…
It’s not even erect. He looks up into his former boyfriend’s eyes, and the dude isn’t even paying any attention to him. He glances at the room as it changes, weights on the floor and cum stained jock straps hanging off everything.
Posters of chicks with big tits on the walls. A fleshlight with pussy lips lying on the messy bed. He covers his nose, suddenly trapped in the lair of a straight man, forced to watch him stomp closer and closer to his prey.
And then the man walks straight into him, slamming his chest against Tim’s cheek. But to the young gay’s dismay, he finds himself unable to pull away. He lifts his hands to the two beefy pillows, only to watch his fingers sink inside.
He starts screaming, trying to free his body, but it only takes a matter of seconds until the room is silent and the fighting stops. Tim’s perspective changes, feeling heavy and bloated and so warm. Something rubs against him. He can’t speak.
“Oh, shit,” a deep voice rumbles through him, followed by booming laughter. He feels himself start to bounce, up and down until he feels almost sick. “Yeah, you fags love my pecs. Watch ‘em twerk.” Tim tries to cry out, but he can’t. He’s nothing but a money maker for his former boyfriend now.
“Stay subscribed, ass eaters, next week is the fart video y’all freaks keep requesting. Whatever, as long as I get paid! That’s all that matters!”
Tim nods in agreement. It’s all he can do,
Alpha Orders
--- Originally posted on 2023-08-12 by dumb-and-jocked. ---
“Troy?”
“In here!”
Marco walked into the living room, spotting his roommate lounged out on the couch. Although he didn’t look 22, Troy’s youthful figure was almost completely absorbed by whatever game he was playing. His petite body was tense and focused. He looked like one of those hairless cats ready to spring forward.
“Whatcha playin’?” Marco asked.
“It’s some new game Franklin gave me,” Troy replied. Franklin was also a nerdy type, but while Troy just mostly looked the part, Franklin actually played the part. Glasses, suspenders, kind of a pushover. It was strange that someone could fit a stereotype so perfectly.
“It’s called Alpha Orders.”
“Kinda like ‘Simon Says’?” Troy asked, grabbing a snack from the kitchen. Since college had started, he’d put on a considerable amount of weight. He fit the ex-jock bill pretty well. But his girlfriend didn’t mind. In fact, she remarked about liking the pudge that had started filling in his frame. As long as he shaved, she always joked, he wouldn’t look like a bear.
“Kinda…” Troy mumbled. Marco shoved a handful of Goldfish down his throat and looked over his roommate once more. The shrimp sure was invested. His eyes appeared somewhat glazed over.
“Seeing how much you love it, do you think I should try it once you’re finished?”
It took Troy a moment to respond. Suddenly, Troy’s body pumped up. Almost like a heartbeat, but affecting his entire body as if someone had pushed the lever down on a tire pump. Marco blinked, rationalizing that his eyes were playing tricks on him out of hunger. The loose button-up and straight jeans Troy was wearing didn’t look any tighter. Yeah, he just needed some more Goldfish down the hatch. Marco eagerly complied with the prescription he’d given himself.
“Uh…” Troy started slowly. “You should just…go to Franklin. Get another copy.”
“Oh,” Marco replied flatly. It was a little odd that Troy didn’t want to share with him after he was done. It was usually chill when it came to the roommates swapping stuff between each other. But if Marco was being honest he didn’t really mind taking the short trip. He didn’t have any homework or plans today anyway, so going over to Franklin’s wouldn’t be a bother.
“Sure, not a bad idea,” Marco shrugged, tossing a few more crackers in his mouth. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Marco had only been to Franklin’s place once or twice to pick Troy up, but he still knew the way to the nerd’s house. Those two looked oddly alike with their small, thin frames and youthful faces. And by how often those two hung out, heck, they could’ve been secretly dating for all he knew. But Marco remembered wingmanning for Troy once. It hadn’t gone particularly well, but Marco did end up with the chick who’d passed Troy off later that night. Luckily, his roommate had never found about the one nighter.
Marco knocked on the door to Franklin’s place. “Franklin? It’s Marco.”
“Yeah,” a rumbling bass replied back, allowing for Marco to open the door. A blast of sweaty musk spilled outwards, causing Marco to stagger. He blinked, hoping to clear his head a little before he entered. He always forgot how pungent the man was, especially in a concentrated place like the apartment.
Sitting back in a recliner was Mr. F, stripped down to just a pair of tiny running shorts. Marco could tell the man was commando underneath the controller–the guy never did try to hide his monster cock. And why should he? He was a total alpha male after all. Tall, well-built, hairy. Had a voice that shook the room and an attitude that shook people’s knees. Including the guy that was at Mr. F’s massive feet, servicing them diligently as Mr. F played his game. Marco didn’t mind though, knowing Mr. F deserved this kind of specialized treatment.
“Mr. F,” Marco started, pacing across the room.
“What do you want?” Mr. F got right to the point. He didn’t even try looking away from the screen.
“I was wondering if I could borrow a copy of that game you gave Troy.” Marco shrugged, not knowing what else to say. “Alpha Orders.”
“Check the kitchen table.”
Marco did as instructed, finding exactly what he was looking for.
“Get me a beer while you’re at it too,” Mr. F commanded. Marco obeyed, not even thinking twice as he snatched a bottle from the fridge and brought it to the man. He didn’t even regard the boy who was currently beside his own feet.
Marco blinked, noticing his apartment door presented in front of him. Wasn’t he just at Mr. F’s place? The game was still in his hand, and everything else looked in order. Except for his watch, which read a full four hours later than when he had arrived at the other man’s residence. But to get to Mr. F’s was only a ten minute drive? Marco didn’t know what had happened, but he had gotten what he wanted. No point in thinking about it much longer.
Marco opened the front door and strolled in, noticing a peculiar thickness to the air. Although he couldn’t see his roommate, some audio from the living room alerted him that Troy was still there. Marco didn’t even bother kicking off his shoes as he strolled into the kitchen and snatched a granola bar. He figured he’d be bunking down in his own room for a bit so as to not disturb his roommate. Being the bigger (much bigger) half of the pair, Marco knew he’d be more of a nuisance than if Troy had been in the same situation.
“Hey dude, still at it…” Marco droned off. On the couch was a man–a real masculine, macho man. He was taller than Marco, larger than Marco, and exuded a more dominant aura than Marco. He was like a crossover between a bodybuilder and a lumberjack, filling out the blue flannel with his solid pecs, thick shoulders, and hairy arms. The jeans were tight around his lower half too, leading all the way to the massive Size 14 feet propped up on the coffee table. And Marco couldn’t believe the size of this man’s junk. He thought the controller lying on top was vibrating, but after a few moments he realized it was the giant lump underneath that was actually throbbing.
“‘Bout time you got here,” the man grunted. He casually itched the massive beard on his face, which was somehow still not enough to hide the lantern jaw hidden within. “I texted you a while ago.”
Marco blinked. “Oh, sorry Mr. T, I-”
“You shouldn’t make me wait,” Mr. T asserted, his gruff tone making him sound older than his 37 years. “I had to stop my game. I was near the end.”
Marco turned towards the screen, noticing that his roommate was already 80% finished with the main task. Whatever that was.
“Mr. T, I’m sorry,” Marco started. “I was at Mr. F’s and lost track of time.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Mr. T corrected. “Apologize to the lads.”
Marco nodded, getting down on his knees and leaning in towards Mr. T’s feet. Both of them had a pungent funk, but it was more subtle than Mr. F’s. After a quick bow of his head, Marco kissed both of them, expressing his most sincere remorse as to not being there when needed. As the alpha in the apartment, Mr. T naturally needed service regularly. Marco was always happy to oblige, as it was his position on the social ladder. It had nothing to do with sexuality after all. Quite the opposite. Both of the men were ramrod straight, but Mr. T was born to dominate men everywhere but the bedroom.
“Good boy.” Mr. T had yet to look up from his phone once. “Now go off to another room, I will call you when I need you.”
Marco did as he was told, grabbing his things and moving off to his room. He shut the door behind him politely so as to not disturb the other man. He couldn’t believe he screwed up like that, so focused on getting this silly game that he’d been late for his primary role as a good roommate. Marco just hoped it was worth all the hype.
Marco popped the disc into his personal console and kicked back in the couch. He casually readjusted his pouch underneath his sweats, noting the strip of bare skin now visible due to the ballooning of his stomach. He huffed disappointedly, knowing this white shirt was just one of the many that had become victims to his recent…expansion.
“ALPHA ORDERS,” the screen read aggressively. Securing his headphones over his baseball cap, Marco hit the play button. A loading screen appeared next, an arrow creating the same biological gender symbol for male over and over. It would loop in a circle, before jutting off at the last moment to the top right. And then it would start again, and again, and again. Marco just watched on, waiting.
“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen began, causing Marco to ready his controller. “YOU TO EMBODY AND EXALT THE MULTIFACETED VIRTUES OF MASCULINITY.”
Marco just stared at the screen, not knowing what exactly to do. Was this some kind of puzzle game? Like was he supposed to hit a certain button based off of the prompt given to him? He blinked, unsure of what to do. He already did embody masculinity with his well-muscled frame, the fur underneath his shirt covering it, and his aura of testosterone. And he exalted it alright, making sure to display his masculinity at all times. Although this white shirt wasn’t doing his stacked abs any justice.
A little ping sounded from the screen as he moved onto the second task. Marco didn’t know how the game had registered something, but he couldn’t help if even technology could sense his manliness.
“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO RESIDE AT THE TOP OF THE HIERARCHY AND ESTABLISH OTHERS’ PLACE BENEATH IT.”
Marco blinked, making sure to fondle his hefty pouch generously. Oh yeah, he knew what kind of power he had. Pussies practically called to him and his 9-incher. Marco was a predator, always on the winning team. Getting serviced whenever he wanted was guaranteed to him. There was a reason people called him “Mr. M”, “Sir”, or even “Master.” He wasn’t toxic; Marco was in-toxic-ating. Any alpha man was. Everyone loves an arrogant douchebag because they knew their place. His dick was begging for attention beneath his sweats, and going commando made it easy for Marco to give it a quick tug.
“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO FOLLOW PRIMAL INSTINCT–BRAIN IS FOR BETA, MANHOOD IS FOR MAN.”
Marco rubbed his eyes, having to read the stupidity of that last part again. He thought it was stupid, but after blinking he recognized its truth. Yeah he was led by his pussystuffer! What was he supposed to do? Listen to his head? Marco knew that was useless. Learning was for nerds, and school was for…ultra nerds. He wasn’t a loser! His dick led him wherever he needed to go. Gotta get some cash? Find someone to give it to him with his cock. Hungry? Someone will feed him food while he feeds them with his own personal sausage. Need a blowjob? That will come from any chick around no questions asked.
“ALPHA ORDERS…YOU TO PRODUCE AN AURA THAT INSPIRES LOYALTY AND SUBMISSION.”
Marco blinked, taking in a whiff of his own body odor while doing so. He twitched a little, noting a little bit of heat at the end that made his musk all the more enticing. Marco stunk up everywhere he went; deodorants just couldn’t mask his manly aroma. It wasn’t a crime to smell like an ALPHA! Marco’s natural, masculine scent just put those other betas to shame. With damp, bushy pits and Size 13 stompers, it was practically Marco’s destiny to have an ever present, robust malodorous cloud.
Marco’s eyes briefly moved up to the top of the screen, noting his task bar was at 80%. It was right where his roommate had stopped earlier. He hoped that meant he was close. He needed someone to worship him NOW!
“ALPHA ORDERS…” the screen read. Marco blinked, noticing the screen was taking a longer time than usual to display its next command. He blinked again, bringing a hand down to his crotch. Marco couldn’t believe it, blinking again. He began furiously groping himself, bringing himself to the edge as he waited. What was the final order? What was he supposed to do? Marco blinked, feeling a rush spiral down his spine right into his cannon. What did Alpha Order?
“YOU TO BE FULLY HOMOSEXUAL TO COMPLETELY DOMINATE OTHER MEN BY MIND, BODY, AND ACTION.”
Marco’s mouth dropped. Was this game serious? How was he supposed to accomplish this task? It wasn’t like he could just suddenly go gay. Sure, he knew when another man was handsome or good looking, but he had never swung that way. Marco knew other guys servicing him came off as strange sometimes–even his girlfriend had questioned him on it once or twice–but that was just to display his authority. But he never found it erotic! It just wasn’t his thing. Marco blinked, simply not understanding what to do.
Because he was already the gayest guy he knew around. He loved men and boys. There was nothing that made him happier than dumping a dude on the ground and ripping them open. He adored the way they treated his body like the temple it was. The way they worshiped him like the god he was. Men were the best at pleasuring other men, so it only made sense an alpha like him was gay. Frank, Troy, Marco; they all understood the best way to be at the top of the ladder was to put other men in their places beneath them, whether it be sucking on his cock or his toes.
“Yo, Marco!” Troy announced as he entered the room. “I got some boys rolling over here in 10. I will let you claim dibs on which part you want to serv…”
Troy stopped, observing the jockish man staring at the screen in front of him.
Troy blinked, registering his fellow alpha had just finished whatever game he had been playing.
“What did you say?” Marco’s voice had a cocky, sultry air to it.
“I said I got some boys rolling over here in 10.” Troy rolled his eyes. “I will let you claim dibs on one of them if you need to be serviced right now.”
Without moving his eyes off the screen, Marco shut down his console and scratched his ball sack.
“Bro, alphas like us always need to be serviced.”
The Interviews
--- Originally posted on 2021-02-07 by dumb-and-jocked. ---
“Can you guys believe we actually made it?” Elijah exclaimed proudly. Even as the tallest of the trio at 6’7, he had to arch his back to see the top of the skyscraper in front of him. Elijah had worked hard to get his degree in business, so the prospect in front of him made him feel like he was touching the finish line. He had applied for an interning position in the financial department, and the company had been so impressed with his application that they had set up an interview immediately.
“I will admit, it is pretty incredible,” Dylan added. He was in the middle of the three, having a little over average height at 5’11 and pretty good muscular tone. What really stood out about him though was his voice, for it was a powerful bass that could shake concrete walls and was completely recognizable at any event. He too had applied for an interning position in the financial department, creating a little friendly rivalry between the two.
“I’m still surprised we all made it.” Although Joe was almost a foot shorter than the giant Elijah at 5’7, he made up for his height in sheer body mass. Back in college, he had been the star wrestler of the college, giving him a body packed with pure strength and flesh. One wouldn’t be able to guess it, but Joe was also skilled in another area: accounting. He was so talented in fact that he had actually been scouted out by the company.
“I guess we should head in,” Elijah stated, making his way forward slowly. “If we actually want to work at the Carmichael Corporation, we’ll have to ace these interviews.”
“Oh yeah, like that’ll be hard,” Dylan jeered as he walked through a set of grand swinging doors. “My record is pretty well stacked. I think I have the best chance out of the three of us for this position.”
“Dude, I’m going for accounting.” Joe gave a rough eye roll, before walking off to notify the secretary of their presence.
“And like I have any competition,” Elijah scoffed as Dylan and himself took a seat on a nearby bench. “Once they see that my name was on the Dean’s List every semester, I’ll get in for sure.”
“You only got that because you were the captain of the basketball team,” Dylan mocked.
“Did not,” Elijah hurled back.
“Did too!” Dylan retorted.
“You understand that I actually worked for those grades, right?” Elijah felt himself get heated as his muscles grew tense.
“Oh you worked for them alright,” Dylan mumbled. “On your knees.”
“Excuse me, bro?!”
“You heard what I said, coc-”
“Gentlemen!”
A sharply dressed male was staring down at the two bickering companions. The man was furiously tapping a pen against his clipboard, obviously irritated. Standing tall in front of the two, he was wrapped up in a gray 3-piece suit with a checkered tie that fit well against his sculpted body. His face showed that although he acted superior, he had to be a similar age to the two young men cowering below him.
“My name is Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV, and I am one of the Accounting Managers here at the Carmichael Corporation,” he began pompously, effortlessly taking control of the situation. “If you want to work here at the Carmichael Corporation, the first concept you must learn is respect and decency to and in the workplace.”
“Sorry,” Dylan and Elijah replied in unison, deeply embarrassed and annoyed by the stuck-up prick.
“Now, I assume I will be performing one of your interviews today,” Yale took a moment to look at his clipboard. “Is one of you Joseph Koroll?”
“That’s me.” Joe appeared from behind Yale, surprising the other man a little bit. After checking in, Joe had quickly run to the bathroom to wash his face, finding he had accidentally missed a few hairs when he had shaved this morning. Not noticeable, just a little itchy.
“Exemplary,” Yale responded, causing Joe to give the other two looks that said What’s with this guy?
“Let us make our way to a correspondent room, we have a lot to cover in little time.” Before Joe could comprehend what Yale had said, the other man was already walking towards an elevator. Joe quickly scurried along, waving to his pals before he was lifted up.
“How do you think he’ll do?” Dylan pondered.
“Better than the two of us so far,” Elijah pouted.
— —
“Joseph Koroll.”
“Yes?”
Yale sat straight at his desk, constantly giving off an ill-tempered glare as he peered back and forth between Joe and Joe’s resumé. What made it even more intense was that Yale’s eyes had an oddly captivating color to them. The two sat in a small conference room on the 15th floor overlooking a part of the city below. Joe didn’t feel that nervous–he actually felt quite confident–but the giant yellow chair he sat in made him seem much smaller than he actually was. Even for his muscular figure, he barely filled half the seat, and his head did not make it anywhere near the top. Not only that, but the chair was placed in the center of the room, giving him more attention than he needed.
“I despise that I must admit it,” Yale sighed. “but your experience and credentials are rather splendid.”
“Thank you?” Joe replied back, a little confused.
“If you want to be a part of the Carmichael Corporation however, there are some aspects that must be changed or enhanced.”
“I understand.”
“The Carmichael Corporation is not some urban start-up with jeans and herbal teas. This is a very demanding industry, one that expects all employees to be obedient and loyal.”
“Of course,” Joe nodded along. “That would make sense.”
“I do not know or care what went on at your last position, but if you want to succeed in this company, it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Would you be okay with this level of obedience?”
“Yes sir.” Joe slyly added in the title, sensing he had to accept a power shift.
“That is more appropriate,” Yale smiled. “Now, let us first address the things that need to be changed to be hired. Your attire is the most noticeable facet, as it is unsightly to say in the kindest of terms.”
“Unsightly?” Joe was surprised, finding his red sweater and black slacks quite refined before making eye contact with Yale.
“And that is the kindest of words,” Yale snickered back. “If you want to succeed, you will need to learn how to dress like a man. Let me read you a small excerpt from the company handbook.”
Yale stuck a hand into his bag and pulled out the largest book Joe had ever seen. It had to be at least 1000 pages, yet Yale had no trouble finding the exact description he was looking for.
“Blazers are classic items that work for semi-formal occasions and casual office places. Even as a man transitions to daily suits, a blazer will always have a place at a garden party or fraternity alumni event. Ties and bowties are a delightful way to add color to an outfit. Business attire defaults to long ties, and more conservative workplaces require more conservative choices. Consider emulating the attire of your superiors.”
Yale continued, “Supports should be practical and supportive. Belts are fine for casual outings; however, braces are more desirable for suiting, both for support and style as it allows a more traditional and flattering cut. Similarly, undergarments should provide support and coverage. Briefs are the most appropriate underwear choice, as it provides support without being extraneous. It is also compatible with tennis and golf; sports you will be expected to participate in and the only sports you will be allowed to play.”
Yale paused and took a deep breath. Once he had finished gathering himself, he looked over at Joe and gleamed with satisfaction. “I believe it is secure to say that you have already anticipated these particular needs of the company. Am I assuming correctly?”
“Yes sir,” Joe quickly replied. He had made sure to dress in one of his casual outfits today, something comfortable yet reputable. Along with a navy blazer that had been hung on the door, Joe had paired his classic navy polka-dotted tie with a blue button-up and wool dress pants. Sheer socks silently encased his Size 11 feet inside expensive-looking Oxfords, while two bright, yellow suspenders and a hefty watch worked as the statement pieces. He’d also made sure to shave his beard into a beautiful stubble, something that really made him seem both masculine and well-kept. Joe had originally been concerned that the look was a little too casual, but the fact that his superior had noticed it brought a smile to his lips.
“Superb,” Yale acknowledged. “If you are hired here, you will be expected to meet a certain standard of fitness.”
Yale once again examined Joe before meeting eyes, causing Joe to respond with a smug look.
“Interpreting what I have seen and read, I suspect you will be engaging in a routine similar to the one when you were in varsity golf?”
“Very similar, indeed.” Joe resituated himself in the chair, sitting a little straighter to truly show off his 6’1 height. His tight clothing did an impeccable job showcasing his muscular build, which wasn’t as massive as a bodybuilder’s but definitely imposing. He kicked up one of his Size 14 feet onto his knee, knowing he could now get a little more comfortable.
“You will also need to adapt to our image of masculinity, Joe. This is something that has an adjusting definition for everyone here at the Carmichael Corporation. Do you understand what I am referring to?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“To explain further,” Yale eyes had a piercing gleam to them. “the duty of a man is to understand that when lacking in some areas of presence, he must identify other ways to consume the devoid territory. Men are meant to take up a certain amount of space, no matter their stature. This does seem appropriate, correct?”
“Yes sir.” Joe completely interpreted what Yale was referring to. It was only natural that some men had larger presences than others, so it was Joe’s duty to match that same standard. Readjusting in his seat once more, Joe felt his wide, plump bottom jiggling about, consuming the entirety of the extra wide seat. He bagged his pants as he sat, causing the crotch of his pants to ride up and give him a distinct moose knuckle. The fluid movement accidentally made him hard, but Joe knew no one would be able to see his 4 inches.
“Now, I believe the next issue is your tone and speech.” Yale pulled out his handbook once more and flipped to another random page.
“Our manual refers to multiple accessible forms of dialogue, but you will be working with men of all ages from assets and banking within accounting. Therefore, it would be best if you learned how to speak slower and adapt your vocabulary to something better cultivated.”
“Why would that help me exactly?” Joe questioned.
Yale, once again annoyed by Joe’s indecency, glared directly at him before explaining. “It will deepen your voice and give you more presence, which will be extremely helpful in business. You will also be able to use a fuller, more masculine tone–much like my own. I expect that is what you desire?”
“Yes sir.” The words spilled out in nearly double the time they had before. Joe’s tongue felt heavy as he spoke as every syllable seemed to require extra effort to spit out.
“Finally, if you aspire to work at the Carmichael Corporation, it is imperative that you adjust your title.” Yale moved along calmly, not at all caring about Joe’s confusion. “Joe is a very informal name. Lazy and lackadaisical. It sets you up casually in a professional world, agree with me?”
“I guess I don’t know…” Joe muttered, his voice sluggish and insensitive.
“In business, you know how important it is to give the right impression. The men in these industries expect a certain standard of professionality, even in your title. And you must give yourself every possible advantage.”
“Yes, of course sir,” Joe monotoned.
“Professionally, I think you should introduce yourself as your full name, John Millard Koroll.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, but that is not-”
“And where is your surname from?” Yale interrupted. “Is it German?”
“No, it is most certainly-”
“Make it German. It will give you a much more asserting presence. And I reckon a suffix would add some competency as well. From now on, we shall refer to each other by our full names to emulate what the atmosphere is like here at the Carmichael Corporation.”
Joe was still at a loss over the last few comments. He was starting to feel a little panicked over the thought of losing his own identity to the corporate world, but before he could think any further on the topic, Yale stepped in.
“That will work for you, will it not,” Yale stood up from his chair and extended a hand, making sure to share a mutual gaze with Joe. “John Millard Koehler III?”
“By all means, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.” John Millard’s thick, slow voice drawled out. He got out of his own seat and shook Yale’s hand in a firm motion.
“Splendid!” Yale replied. “Then I can confidently declare that you are precisely what the Carmichael Corporation is scouting for. John Millard Koehler III, you will be starting as early as next week.”
“That is just grand!” John Millard responded cordially. “It is truly an honor, my gratitude, Yale Stockton Rockefeller IV.”
“The honor is all mine, you will be an illustrious addition to our department.” Yale sat back down in his chair and ushered John Millard to do the same. “Before I dismiss you, let us discuss acquisitions and the baseline salary. Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we want to make sure that you can ‘be audit you can be’.”
The two chortled merrily at the accounting joke before getting back to business, knowing they had a prosperous future ahead.
— —
“It’s been almost an hour,” Elijah exhaled. “Shouldn’t Joe be done with his interview by now?” The two other men were still sitting on the same bench, waiting for anyone to come and greet them like Yale had appeared before. Countless businessmen had passed in front of them, but all of them seemed so eager to work that they didn’t recognize the recently-graduated college students.
“I don’t know,” Dylan replied honestly, twisting a lock of his curly mane within his fingers out of boredom. “I mean maybe this is the corporate world and everything takes a little longer than expected.” He then stretched to loosen up his joints, showcasing the body of a former running back for everyone to see.
“Yeah, but how many questions do they have to ask to see if Joe is a good fit or not?”
“Apparently a lot.” Dylan began swinging his legs back and forth like a child on a swing to entertain himself. The Size 13 canvas shoes went to and fro, hypnotizing him more than they should have. Elijah watched on too, somehow entertained by the small amount of movement.
“Ahem.”
The two young men quickly shot up off the bench, standing solid. In front of them was a brawny man between the pair’s heights. He looked to be somewhere around sixty, as displayed by his slicked-back salt-and-pepper hair, prominent jaw, and robust torso. His body was brilliantly exhibited in a multi-layered suit, one that displayed every shade from silver to slate.
“I assume the two of you are here for the hiring process, correct?”
The two men nodded their heads quickly.
“Very good.” The man made a quick glance at Dylan and motioned him to follow. Dylan did just that, giving a thumbs-up to Elijah before disappearing down a hall.
— —
“Dylan Pringle.”
“Yes… sir?”
Dylan watched a small smile creep onto the man’s lips after his little addition. There had been a few minutes of back and forth eye contact from Dylan’s resumé and Dylan himself, but he wasn’t feeling too apprehensive. Although the man seemed extremely uptight, Dylan knew there was nothing in his credentials that wouldn’t seem impressive. Plus, the man had already seemed to take a liking to Dylan, as he had been escorted to an expansive office that Dylan assumed had to be the man’s own. It was simply decorated with a few modern black-and-white pictures and two tables lined with retro leather chairs. There were also a few closets and coat racks holding different suits and other formal wear, probably owned by the man himself.
“I must inform you that the position you have applied for has already been filled.”
The sentence came as a shock to Dylan, causing him to twitch a little in his seat. Dylan was so perplexed that he had to examine the man’s eyes carefully to see if he was telling the truth. He was surprised to discover that they had an oddly charming hue.
“I would regard that as a godsend however, as you were not at all qualified for the position.”
“What do you mean?” Dylan’s bass tone became thundering. “I have everything the job requires… and more!”
“Surely you meant to say ‘Sorry Sir, is there another position open?’ as here I thought you were serious about working here at the Carmichael Corporation.”
Dylan was once again caught off-guard.
“Hmm, they told me you were more articulate.” The man made a disappointed grimace before moving on. “I was willing to offer you another position working under me rather than in the financial department as it seems you have no competence in the area. That is generous of me, is it not?”
“Yes, definitely sir.” Dylan was relieved that he still had a chance to work at the Carmichael Corporation, especially after applying for a job he never could have performed.
“Good.” The man walked over to a table and grabbed a rather large book. Dylan was able to catch a quick peek as the man passed by, noticing the pages were lined with questions and guides. Dylan hoped these weren’t all going to be used in the interview for the other position.
“There are a few things you will need to learn quickly if you expect to succeed in this business, do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Dylan made sure to maintain eye contact to confirm his answer.
“Very good. First, we have a completely reasonable dress code here. I know you may not have expected to wear a suit every day, but it will be required. And by a suit, I expect a minimum of 3 layers in some shape or form.” Dylan cringed in his seat barely, knowing that his black turtleneck and jeans probably didn’t make the cut.
“Sir, are you-” Before Dylan could protest, the man pushed forward.
“I find a certain degree of conformity aids in office morale, is that not fair? I can tell by how you present yourself you also believe this to be true.”
“It is fair, sir.” Dylan agreed. He always made sure to wear multiple articles underneath his blazer, as it made him feel more polished. Even though he was forced to take off his tan blazer at the door, it had allowed him to expose the other garments on his body. These included matching tan pleated pants that graciously showed off his hefty pouch, a white button-up with matching white suspenders that strained heavily against his pecs, and a striped tie that shared the same charcoal color with his wing-tipped derbies. Readjusting his glasses, Dylan waited patiently for the man to continue.
“I believe it is also appropriate to have a strict haircut policy. Your hair is to be cut every two weeks, and I will refer you to my own barber. You will style it neatly and you will use whatever product I chose.”
“Sir, if I may interrupt.”
“No, you may not.” The man glared down on Dylan. “I expect to see comb lines so sharp that even from a mile away a man could tell you know how to use pomade. Understood?”
“Completely, sir.” Dylan felt like this task would be no problem, as he already maintained his hair strictly. Brushing a hand across his scalp, he was delighted to feel his sharp quiff still held stiffly in place with not a single hair sticking out. He also made sure to rub a hand across his jaw, feeling up the sculpted beard contemptuously.
“Now, you recognize that you would not be starting at the top, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“Meaning that you would have a certain number of superiors, including myself, correct?”
“Yes sir.”
“So to clarify,” the man began, making sure that their eyes met so he could verify. “You would be an inferior male, underneath me and a plethora of other men.”
“Wait, that isn’t-” Dylan’s booming register was somehow once again cut off.
“You will need to present yourself to this position accordingly, but I believe it is fair to say that will not be an issue.”
“That is accurate, Sir,” Dylan replied reverently in a soft, creamy tenor. He understood where he was on the ladder, and how he’d have to act accordingly. Still sitting in his chair comfortably, the 5’7 man brought his legs closer together, allowing the sides of the Size 8 feet to touch. While doing so, Dylan felt his micropenis twitch eagerly inside his tight briefs, sending an excited reaction to the hole between his two jiggly, doughy buttocks.
“You will also be expected to attend to some other needs of mine,” Sir started. “Dry cleaning, note taking, errands, and the like.”
“Of course, Sir.”
“You will be loyal, you will be obedient, and you will be my dedicated servant.”
“Sir,” Dylan’s meek voice began. “What do you-”
“To work and succeed at the Carmichael Corporation,” Sir declared through fiery eyes. “it is imperative that orders from a superior be followed. Understood?”
“Yes Sir.” Dylan was willing to do just about anything that could give him an advantage in business; anything that would make his superiors pleased.
“So with that said,” Sir leaned back in his chair happily, dropping the handbook on the desk and crossing his arms across his chest. “If I were to ask you to, say, change your name, would you do that for me?”
“Yes Sir,” Dylan lied through his teeth. He was willing to do just about anything, but not that.
“Here at the Carmichael Corporation, we like to go by our full titles as they allude to more professional, defined statuses.”
“Absolutely, Sir.”
“Let’s first start with Dylan: just a gross, common name. You agree?”
Dylan didn’t, but the thought of a superior changing his name was suddenly tantalizing.
“Personally, I believe you would be more suited as a Dorrance. And for the surname, well,” Sir chuckled wickedly to himself. “Pringle was never an actual name, just a detrimental snack. You would be much better suited with Peabody. Classic, but preppy, which seems to be the direction you’re taking. Though I believe you should at least be a Junior.”
Before Dylan could fire back a string of arguments, Sir had ascended out of his throne and extended a strong palm.
“Congratulations, Dorrance Rotterham Peabody, Jr.,” Sir seemed very pleased with himself. “You will be a great fit as my new personal assistant.”
“Thank you immensely, Sir!” Dorrance replied, jumping out of his chair in excitement and eagerly shaking the man’s hand. “How soon may I begin to work under you?”
“Right away, boy.” Sir made sure to emphasize the demeaning word. “I have a few outfits I need you to sort through and approve of, as you know my taste quite exquisitely.”
“Of course, Sir.” Dorrance followed Sir to a table covered in sheets displaying different suits and styles. He immediately immersed himself into the work, separating out the preferable blacks, navys, and grays from the disgusting other palettes. This extremely pleased Sir, so much so that he wanted to reward Dorrance with something special. So, Sir gave Dorrance’s butt a big appreciation swat as he strutted away, causing Dorrance’s ample rump to shudder within his pants as he continued his work.
— —
Elijah grimaced, noticing the time on the gigantic clock inside the main lobby had only moved by a minute. The wait had been a lot longer than he had expected, forcing him to cancel an event with friends and a hookup from Grindr. It had been about an hour since Dylan had been taken away to his interview, and almost 2 hours since Joe’s disappearance. He was concerned about what this meant for them, but he was becoming more concerned about what this could’ve possibly meant for himself. Maybe he didn’t have a chance within the Carmichael Corporation. Elijah was beginning to feel as if the employers had completely forgotten him when a young man magically appeared before him, answering his plea.
The man wore a tight fitting suit, seemingly strained at both the broad shoulders and around the crotch. It was exceptionally subdued, a rather pale black color with a white button-up shirt and a gray tie with a subtle windowpane pattern. He carried a briefcase that looked both rather expensive and rather ordinary. The young man stood ramrod straight, his muscular build hidden by the extremely high rise of his pants, sitting above his belly button just under the rib cage. His powerful jaw–while covered in a little youthful baby fat–spread wide and hung low, giving his face a square, lantern shape.
“Elijah Grove.”
“Yes?”
“I assume you are the last respondent today?” His voice was slow and deep, catching Elijah off guard.
“I guess?”
“Do you guess or do you know?” The young man seemed to get rather disgusted by Elijah’s uncertainty. “If you expect to succeed at the Carmichael Corporation, you are going to have to know.”
“I-” Elijah was almost sure he saw the young man’s eyes flash dazzlingly as he began. “I know I am the last respondent, yes.”
“Grand.” The man ushered Elijah to get up and tread closely behind. Following quickly, Elijah was surprised to see that they were leaving the building.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Elijah chose his words carefully. “Where are we going?”
“I am fond of conducting my interviews over promenades,” the young man replied. They steered their way around crowds of businessmen as they ventured into the streets, making random turns here and there. “It shows how well you can think on your feet, literally. It is an aptitude you will need to be proficient in if you want to become an Associate like myself.”
“Associate?” Elijah blinked a few times out of confusion, knowing that he had applied to work as an intern in the financial department. Although he was a few inches taller than the young man, he was having a little difficulty catching up, causing him to fall in and out of the conversation.
“Indeed,” the man misinterpreted the question. “I was recently put in charge of development acquisitions and advanced from Junior Associate to an Associate. Fascinating, is it not?”
“Sure.”
The two strolled a little further out of the city, moving away from the busy center where the Carmichael Corporation headquarters stood. They came upon streets a little emptier then before until they finally turned into an old park. It was actually quite beautiful, covered in old knotty trees and overgrown plants. Birds were constantly chirping and squirrels chased after each other like there was no tomorrow. It was also littered in large stones, adding an oddly picturesque feel to it. Elijah was surprised that he had lived in the city for so long and had never once been to this place.
After a while more of walking, the man led them to an old picnic table before turning around and offering a large, rough hand. Confused, Elijah accepted it and the grip practically shattered his bones. Elijah had kept his body fit since his high school basketball days, so he was surprised to feel such a sheer strength in the young man’s shake.
“My name is Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.,” the young man stated before placing his briefcase down and taking a seat at the table. “Our interview should not extend too lengthily, as I have some imperative work to attend to after this.”
“What would that be?” Elijah asked earnestly, his jovial tone a major contrast to Keating’s flat, molasses-like demeanor. At 6’7, it was fairly difficult for him to get his skinny legs under the table, but he managed.
“I have been assigned to a downtown acquisition project, a potential development on 520 Porter where we need to clear the lot.”
“Huh, okay,” Elijah strangely got interested. “So what is it that you are removing?”
“Currently the future site of the Carmichael Settlement on Porter is occupied by this park we are lounging in right now.”
“This park?” Elijah was surprised. “But it’s stunning! There’s so much life and nature here. You wanna tear it down?”
“It is an eyesore and it occupies a lot with high economic potential. It is better suited for development.”
“How could you be such a soulless jerk?” Elijah scolded, getting angrier faster than he had anticipated. He began caring less and less about the job and more about his own morality. Sure, Elijah got how important money was, but he didn’t think he would be able to live with the guilt of destroying an animal’s habitat, let alone an entire population’s. “Don’t you understand what you would be doing? The impact this will have?”
“I’m offended by your tone.” Even after being insulted, Keating’s voice still sounded low, slow, and empty. His eyes however seemed to flare up before he continued. “And yes, I understand exactly the impact this will have. It will create a serviceable, profitable property for the Carmichael Corporation, which in turn will compensate me with enough money to survive. That is what any respectable man like you and I would desire.”
“Survive?” Elijah mocked, now getting extremely annoyed that Keating had compared the two of them.
“Obviously.” Keating wasn’t defending himself, but instead explaining what he thought was a common fact. “I just bought a house out in Fenwick, the only neighborhood in this squalid city with expansive acreage, tree-shaded streets, and good schools. It is very difficult to purchase a home in that neighborhood, especially one with the seven bedrooms, four floors, and private tennis court I required. Plus, I’m working on my country club application. The application fee alone is $50,000. Looking over your records earlier, I had gathered that was something you desired as well, correct?”
“Yes, that is true.” The idea was buried inside Elijah’s mind. Far from feeling like a fresh fantasy, it was embedded deep, as though it had always been there, as though he’d always wanted to buy a giant mansion in a gated neighborhood with an expensive country club. It was always the goal to move out to Fenwick for corporate shark Elijah.
“I am relieved that that is settled.” Keating opened his briefcase to reveal a combination of different documents, papers, and a massive book that Elijah couldn’t believe fit in the bag. Keating proceeded to pull it out and flipped open to a page somewhere in the middle.
“To become an Associate, you will first be assigned underneath me as a Junior before moving up the ladder. You will still make a good deal of money however, so do not feel too unsettled. Do you understand?”
Although they were maintaining a shared gaze, Keating was not able to read the confusion on Elijah’s face.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s correct.” Elijah was here for a position in the financial department, not to be an Associate, so he was embarrassed to point out the error that Keating had made. Not embarrassed enough however to not correct him.
“As a Junior Associate, you’d start with a baseline of 100 plus three percent commission with incentives quarterly based on goals and projects,” Keating answered, once again misreading. “I believe that will be appropriate compensation, am I accurate?”
“Yes, indeed you are,” Elijah replied cheerfully, glad that the issue was all cleared up. He had wanted to start as an Associate right away as he was worried it the Junior position wouldn’t give him the pay he had hoped for, but apparently it wasn’t that far below. Plus, if he did well, he could quickly move up like Keating had.
“Your job will require calls, lots of calls,” Keating droned, his piercing eyes drilling right into Elijah’s. “Calls to landowners, historical groups, insurance companies, auctioneers, all with their own opinions and interests. A few calls will be less productive, with upset protestors yelling at you about our improvement upon the lot. You will have to decelerate your speech to command attention better. Be direct and contain emotions. You will be better suited to appear calm and in control at all times. There is no need to ever appear energetic or excited.”
The hurling of information confused Elijah. “So you are saying I shouldn’t care about the clients?”
“Yes,” Keating confirmed. “You can try being sympathetic, but you will quickly find that being stern and direct will get them off the line quicker so you can return to work. Based off of what I have already perceived, this will not be a hindrance.”
“Thank you.” Elijah found himself mimicking Keating’s voice: deep, dull, and disinterested.
“There are many perks of the job, including a corporate gym on the fifth floor which I highly recommend you use.” After investigating Elijah’s long, fit body, Keating brought his eyes back to Elijah’s own. “We expect every man to have a sense of presence at the Carmichael Corporation. Currently, you are far from meeting those standards.”
“What do you mean by that?” Elijah responded. It was hard for a man of his height to keep a healthy weight. A high metabolism meant he was always fairly skinny, but he didn’t expect it would be such a problem.
“The gym is a good source of weight training,” Keating continued, ignoring the question. “I personally workout an hour before work each day and one hour afterwards. You will be expected to maintain a similar routine. It appears however that you already understand the importance of presence, but if you are interested in a tour of the corporate gym I would not be affronted.”
“Thank you, I would be very fond of that.” Elijah smiled politely after his reply, moving his legs a little under the picnic table. At 6’3, it was a little difficult for him to keep his well-defined legs under the table, but he managed. Although he’d left golf after college (and hoped to get back into it with his admission into the country club) Elijah had made sure to keep his body in excellent shape by working out almost everyday. His proof could be seen through the skin-tight quarter-zip sweater and the black khaki’s that hugged his meaty quads and calves.
“At the Carmichael Corporation, we do have a dress code, but it is reasonably undemanding.” Keating turned the manual around to show Elijah. The page that Keating had flipped to displayed a model covered head to toe in a full, very dapper yet very posh suit. Elijah’s eyes fluttered quickly before looking back to Keating for confirmation.
“‘Reasonably undemanding’?”
“I would say so. A suit works as the foundation of a man’s future in business.” Keating closed the handbook and placed it back into his briefcase. Elijah could have sworn a tiny smile crept onto the corners of Keating’s mouth during the action. “I appreciate that you have already generated this knowledge.”
“I’m glad you noticed,” Elijah flourished, his voice still plodding. Elijah had made sure to pick out an outfit that had shown off all of his best features. First, a drab, beige, perfectly-cut jacket with matching pleated pants, accompanied by a striped salmon button-up that contrasted well against his pale skin. He had matched his coffee-colored tie to similar shaded Size 13 tassel loafers and a pair of bronze supports that were hidden expertly beneath his coat. Finally, he had styled his blond hair into a fashionable ivy-league cut, making sure to also get a fresh shave earlier that morning. Just the thought of himself in the outfit made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 6.5-inch mast.
“There are only a few more things we must address, one being your character and ethics.”
“What is it the company expects?” Elijah asked.
“You must understand,” Keating glared. “the Carmichael Corporation expects every man to share the same morale system. We want a unified front; a collective conscience per say.”
“Alright,” Elijah accepted. “What are these shared values?”
“There are the equitable ideals like marrying a woman of the same class, having an abundance of children, and being a member of good standing at multiple prestigious clubs.”
Elijah sighed to himself quietly while still maintaining eye contact, disappointed in these old-fashioned beliefs.
“At the Carmichael Corporation, we also have intimate objectives that stand high above the others. You must want to move upwards on the corporate ladder. You must want to fully commit yourself to your work. You must want to embody everything a man should be: big, strong, soon to be rich. You must want to be every title a man should own: sportsman, fraternity brother, and avaricious. You want money, do you not?”
“Yes,” Elijah confirmed deliberately. “I want money.” This brought a greedy sneer spread to Keating’s face. Elijah felt like a low, deep, and great truth had awoke inside him. Luckily, the Carmichael Corporation’s principles had aligned perfectly to his own.
“Very good.” Keating eyes also seemed to grin wildly. “Now, two imperative adjustments I would personally like to make. The first is your name.”
“My name?” Elijah opposed.
“Yes, you will need something stronger, more outdated to establish yourself as a man of the Carmichael Corporation. Is that not true?”
“Yes, I do believe that to be true,” Elijah suddenly affirmed. “Please tell me what you think my name should be.”
“Your name is not the only dilemma however, but also your nationality,” Keating resumed. “I believe a British origin would give you a brilliant presence. More mannerful, much more respectable, and it would help establish you as a leading man. Plus, a legacy will give you generational value. What do you think?”
“I-”
“But,” Keating cut off before Elijah could even attempt to reply. “I should not be bashful in saying that you already represent all those factors. Care to agree, Emerson Foley Gillingham-Smyth?”
“Most certainly,” Emerson acknowledged accordingly in a pretentious accent. He was a diligent, hard-working, and prosperous Brit, and those were only the first words that came to his head. Some may have called him smug and arrogant, but he was really just confident and self-assured. He resembled the epitome of a real man, as displayed by his stunning suit that contrasted his tanned skin eloquently. His dark, chestnut hair and beard also gave off a shocking amount of masculinity. Just the thought of himself and his own superiority made him perk up inside his white briefs, bringing his dick to a 9-inch mast. He was by no means a repulsive sodomite, but he could admit a handsome man when he saw one. And he was a handsome man.
“So what do you convey, Keating Eckley Whitlyn, Jr.?” Emerson began, taking a stand with his Size 15 feet planted firmly beneath him. “Do you believe I could become a Junior Associate at the Carmichael Corporation.”
“By all means,” Keating replied, getting up and extending a hand forward. “You’ll be a fashionable fit.” They gave a single sturdy shake before finishing their business. While heading towards the exit, they held a light conversation about stocks, each having grabbed a business edition of the Times along the way.
Gripping the paper tightly as they drifted away from the park, Emerson felt almost restless. The idea of stripping away that atrocity of a park to add in a new, profitable site was so thrilling it was mildly arousing. After his success here, Emerson knew he would receive a promotion, which pleased him mightily. Making their way across a boulevard, Emerson watched the Carmichael Corporation’s headquarters come into view, the place where he knew he would accomplish everything he desired.
Fighters Paradise
It was another Friday afternoon and Max was on his way to an arcade. He had just turned 23 and had been saving up for a while to buy a special coin. They were quite expensive, but would give him unlimited access to the best games in the arcade for an entire week.
Max walked into the arcade and was disappointed to see it wasn’t as busy as he thought it would be. He made his way to the counter where an girl with dark hair smiled at him from behind the glass.
“Hello there, can I help you?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’d like to buy a deluxe coin please,” Max said.
The clerk took his money and gave him the coin before saying, “Enjoy your time here.”
Max then made his way into the main hall where all the arcade machines were. He looked around for a while until he found the game he had come here for. It was called Fighters Paradise and was one of the most popular games in the arcade. It was an interactive boxing game where ridiculously muscular characters would face off each other until one of them was knocked.
Max walked up to the machine and wrapped his around the joystick meant to control the game. He inserted his special coin and as he did the screen turned on. The Fighters Paradise logo was displayed in large letters on the screen. Underneath the logo a question appeared "Do you accept the challenge?". Thinking it might just be some ordinary loading screen he clicked on yes without much thought.
As he did, a bright beam came forth from the screen. As the beam of light touched his body and traveled upwards to his torso his body seemed to be disintegrating. Panicking, he tried letting go of the stick only to realize he couldn't move anything at all.
"Please... someone!" Max called out but no one seemed to be around.
Accepting his fate, he watched as his arms and chest disappeared.
Finally, the beam hit his face and everything turned to black.
---
Max opened his eyes slowly to find himself laying on the sand. He was surrounded by palm trees swaying in the breeze and felt the warm sun beating down from above. Looking around he saw no signs of buildings or any other sign of civilization, just water in every direction as far as the eye could see.
"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. He was still wearing the same jeans and t-shirt he had on when he went into the arcade.
Max then noticed that he wasn't alone on the beach. A tall muscular man in boxing shorts was walking towards him, boxing gloves wrapped around his fists.
The man smiled as he approached Max and said, "Welcome to the greatest game of all time."
"What do you mean?" Max asked, confused by what was happening.
He then walked up to Max and wrapped him up in a hug before saying, "You're here now, which means you have accepted the challenge."
"What challenge?"
"To fight against the best of the best in an epic battle to the end," the man said sarcastically with a smile. "I am Tyrone, I used to come from the other side just like you. You can live comfortably in this world, you just have to fight opponents every day unless you want to go crazy."
Max what was was weirder, the fact a boxer was standing in front of him instead of the gym or the fact that he had been pulled into a video game and was just told to fight people to until one was KO'd.
Max looked around at the beautiful scenery before asking, "Me? Fight?"
He looked down at his attire, he was not dressed for the beach much less to fight some random stranger.
"Sorry man but I don't think I'm cut out for this. Can't you just send me back out again?" he pleaded with the man
"No can do. It's a one way street." he replied with an empathetic smile.
"But I'm not a fighter!"
"Not yet, is what you mean to say. It won't affect you yet but soon you will be craving combat," he says, "don't worry I'll train you"
Tyrone led Max down to the beach and around a large rock that was at the edge of the water. Behind the rock was a small shack with a boxing ring set up outside it.
"This is where we'll be training," Tyrone said as he opened the door to let Max inside. The gym was nothing special, just an old shed with a few punching bags and some weights.
Max looked around the gym in surprise, "I don't have much experience with boxing."
"That's alright," Tyrone said, "I'll teach you everything you need to know."
He then walked over to a punching bag and hit it with a powerful uppercut. Max was amazed at how hard the man hit the bag, causing it to fly back and hit the wall behind it.
"First things first, let's get some basic punches down," Tyrone said before grabbing two gloves from a shelf. "Here, put these on."
Max took the gloves from Tyrone and put them on. He then watched as Tyrone set up the punching bag so it was hanging at the perfect height for them to use.
"Okay, watch me and copy me," Tyrone said before throwing a jab.
Max followed through with his own jab after watching Tyrone. Tyrone then demonstrated a right hook before having Max throw one as well. After practicing both punches a few times, they moved on to combinations.
"Let's try a simple 1-2 combo," Tyrone said, throwing a jab followed by a right hand. "Copy me."
Max threw the same punch combination after Tyrone and watched as he smiled in approval. They continued practicing punches for a while until Tyrone finally said, "Alright, that's enough for now. Let's move on to something else."
"What next?" Max asked, taking off his gloves and hanging them up on a shelf.
"Let's get some footwork down," Tyrone replied before leading Max out of the gym. "We'll be using the boxing ring outside for this."
Max followed Tyrone out into the backyard where they both stepped into the boxing ring that had been set up there.
"Okay, I want you to move around the ring and pretend you're throwing punches," Tyrone instructed. "Keep your hands up in a defensive position when you're not throwing them."
Max did as he was told, moving around the ring and throwing imaginary punches. After watching him for a moment, Tyrone said, "Your footwork is pretty good already. We just need to work on your balance a little bit."
He then stepped into the ring with Max and had him practice his footwork while he lightly touched him to see how well balanced he was.
"You're doing great," Tyrone said after a few minutes of this. "Alright, let's take it up a notch now."
He then started throwing some light punches at Max to see how well he would dodge them. Max quickly found himself dodging the punches left and right, feeling like he was in an actual fight.
After a while of this, Tyrone finally said, "Okay, that's enough for today."
Max stepped out of the ring, exhausted from all the practice they had done. He was amazed at how well he was doing considering he had never boxed before. He looked over at Tyrone who was watching him with a smile.
"You're a natural," Tyrone said before walking up to Max and patting him on the back. "I'm proud of you."
Max smiled at the compliment, feeling like he had finally earned it after all the hard work he had put in.
"Thanks man," he said to Tyrone. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem," Tyrone replied before walking over to the gym door. "Let's come back tomorrow and we'll keep practicing. I have a feeling you're going to be a force to reckon with in no time."
Max nodded and said, "Sounds good. I can't wait to get better."
As Tyrone closed up the gym he led Max to his villa that was situated close to the beach as well.
"Wow" Max thought to himself amazed by the view and the luxurious building that Tyrone lived in.
"If you're spending a long time here, might as well make it comfortable right?" Tyrone started saying as he led Max through all the different rooms of his house.
"This will be your room, I'll see you in the morning"
Exhausted and overwhelmed by the crazy things that had taken place in what felt like less than a couple hours, he fell asleep in mere minutes.
---
Max awoke with a start, feeling like he had just had the most bizarre dream. It took him a moment to realize that he was actually in a strange dream right now. He looked around the room he was in, noticing that it was much nicer than the one he had been staying in before.
"What the hell?" Max muttered to himself as he got out of bed. He walked over to the window and gazed outside, seeing an amazing view of the ocean.
It was then that he remembered what had happened yesterday, how he had been pulled into a video game world and forced to fight people for Tyrone's entertainment. The thought made him feel anxious, like there was something he should be doing but couldn't quite remember what it was.
Max decided to head down to the kitchen in Tyrone's villa to see if he could find something to eat. As he walked through the hallway he noticed a few pictures on the wall that showed Tyrone with other people. One of them was a man who looked muscular but also very stylish, wearing a suit and smiling for the camera.
Max stopped in front of this picture, feeling like he recognized the man but couldn't quite remember from where. He shook his head and continued on to the kitchen.
When Max entered the kitchen he was greeted by Tyrone who was cooking some eggs and bacon. "Good morning," Tyrone said, "I hope you're feeling rested after yesterday."
Max nodded, not trusting himself to speak just yet. He sat down at the kitchen table and watched Tyrone finish up breakfast as he thought about what had happened the day before.
It was weird how he could remember being in a boring arcade waiting for his turn to play some stupid game, but couldn't recall anything after that. Had they drugged him or something? It was just a theory, but it was the only thing that made sense at this point.
"Here you go," Tyrone said, placing a plate of eggs and bacon in front of Max. "Eat up."
Max started to eat his breakfast, doing his best not to think about the weird day he had had. He was interrupted when Tyrone asked him how he was feeling.
"Anxious," Max replied truthfully, "Like there's something I should be doing but don't know what it is."
Tyrone nodded and said, "It's probably just the curse of being stuck in this video game world. The only thing that helps is to fight."
"Ah," Max sighed in a defeated tone, "so you really weren't kididing about that"
"Nope. The only thing that really helps is to well, fight..." he replied with an empathetic smile.
"Let's get you some clothes and head to the gym, that should help already" Tyrone suggested, already moving towards another room of the large villa.
Max was lead into Tyrone's bedroom which was somehow even more luxurious than the other rooms in the villa.
Tyrone opened yet another door connected to his bedroom which looked to be a walk-in closet lined with boxing clothes and stylish floral shirts.
"Pick something you like and we'll head to the gym, okay?" Tryone said, already grabbing a a nice pair of red shorts.
"See anything you like?" he asked Max who looked like a kid in front of a candy aisle overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice.
"Uh,"
"Here, just take this" he said handing the pair of red shorts to Max.
"Thanks... Where can I change?"
"What do you mean? Just change here, we're both men right?" Tyrone replied
"Let's get you out of that old t-shirt"
Before Max even had a chance to respond Tyrone came up to him and ripped apart his shirt in one motion.
"We won't be needing that for much long"
Shocked by Tyrone's assertiveness he responded by covering his flat albeit a little pudgy chest with his hands.
Max did not realize his mistake as this gave Tyrone the perfect opportunity to pull down Max's jeans and underwear as well.
"Don't be ashamed man, you've got a nice body" he complimented.
This comment made Max flustered and blushed red harder than he ever had before.
What Tyrone said next however would send Max over the moon.
"If you'll do well today I'll even reward you" he said with a suggestive wink as cupped Max's balls with his hand.
Many emotions rushed through Max's mind: excitement, anxiety, lust.
"Come on Max, we haven't got all day" Tyrone told him, already set on heading to the gym to start their second session.
---
Max and Tyrone have their second training at the small shack again. Max turns out to be a natural at boxing and is improving at an incredible pace. Tyrone decides to do a little sparing with some light punches. Every punch he deals/receives seems to scratch his itch. After the training Max could also swear that his stomach looked a little less pudgy and more far more toned than it ever had been
Max followed Tyrone out of the villa and down to the gym where they had trained yesterday. He was still feeling embarrassed about what had happened in Tyrone's bedroom, but he tried to push those thoughts aside for now.
"Alright," Tyrone said as they stepped into the small shack that served as a boxing gym, "let's get started."
Max nodded and went to put on his gloves while Tyrone set up the punching bag. He had been getting better at landing his punches since yesterday, but there was still room for improvement.
"Remember to keep your guard up," Tyrone said as he finished setting things up. "You never know when I might throw a surprise punch."
Max nodded and assumed a fighting stance, readying himself for the training session ahead. He felt more confident than he had yesterday, but was still wary of Tyrone's skill.
The training started off well, with Max landing several good punches on the bag. Tyrone complimented him on his progress and said that he was getting better at reading his opponent. This made Max feel even more confident as they continued to practice.
After a while, Tyrone suggested that they try some sparring. He promised to go easy on Max, saying that it would help him get used to fighting another person instead of just a bag. Max agreed and they stepped into the ring, starting to throw some light punches at each other.
It felt weird to be hitting Tyrone instead of a sand bag. But they both kept their punches light and tried to focus on improving their technique. As they continued to spar, Max found that every time he landed a punch on Tyrone, it was like scratching that figurative itch deep inside him. It made him want to land more punches, it as almost addictive.
On the other side of things, Tyrone felt a similar itch being scratched when he blocked Max's punches or landed one of his own.
Max started to understand how the curse worked and how fighting was so important in this world.
After a few rounds of sparring, they both were feeling exhausted. Tyrone suggested that they take a break and have some water before heading back into the gym for more training. Max nodded in agreement and they both stepped out of the ring to catch their breath.
As they drank some water, Max couldn't help but notice that his stomach looked less pudgy than it had earlier. He didn't know if it was just his imagination or if all the exercise he had been getting was actually paying off. Tyrone noticed him staring at his own body and smirked.
"What is it?" he asked. "Noticing how much more toned you're getting?"
Max blushed, not sure how to respond. He hadn't meant to be staring at himself, but he couldn't help feeling proud of all the progress he had made in such a short amount of time.
"I guess so," he admitted truthfully.
Tyrone clapped him on the back and said, "Then let's keep up the good work! We'll have you looking like a lean mean fighting machine in no time."
Max smiled back at Tyrone and felt his heart race as he thought about all the changes that might come with more training. They both finished their water and headed back into the gym to continue practicing until it was too dark to see.
---
As they walked back to the villa, Max couldn't help but feel anxious about what was going to happen next. He didn't know how much of it was the curse giving him pleasurable feelings, and how much of it was his own desire to have sex with Tyrone. But he knew that he wanted Tyrone, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.
He stayed silent as he entered the villa and followed Tyrone into the bedroom.
"Take off your clothes," Tyrone ordered. "I want to see you naked."
Max did as he was told, feeling a little humiliated to be stripping in front of Tyrone. But it didn't matter, all that mattered was getting some release for his raging hardon. He stood there awkwardly, his cock throbbing painfully as Tyrone looked him up and down with hungry eyes.
"Get on the bed," Tyrone commanded. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
Max climbed onto the big soft bed, feeling like a rag doll in Tyrone's strong hands. He spread his legs wide open for Tyrone, inviting him to take what he wanted. Tyrone smiled and then kissed Max deeply, his tongue exploring his mouth as his hands gripped Max's ass cheeks.
Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth, begging him to hurry up and fuck him. He was so horny that he didn't care about the kiss or even about Tyrone's skill; he just wanted to cum.
Tyrone positioned himself between Max's legs and spit on his cock before wrapping his hand around it. He started to stroke Max slowly, making him writhe in frustration. Then he suddenly pressed his cock against Max's tight hole and pushed forward without warning.
Max cried out as he felt Tyrone's thick cock stretching him open. It hurt a little at first, but it was nothing compared to the pleasure of having Tyrone inside him. He reached down and started to stroke himself while Tyrone began to fuck him for all he was worth.
The bed creaked loudly as Tyrone pounded into Max's ass. His big hands gripped Max's hips tightly, holding him in place as he thrust over and over again. Each time Tyrone bottomed out inside of him, Max felt like his insides were being rearranged. It was a little painful but it also felt so good.
Tyrone's grunts filled the bedroom as he got closer and closer to cumming. He began to fuck Max harder and faster, making him cry out louder and louder. Then Tyrone's cock twitched inside of him and he felt hot cum filling his ass.
"Fuck yes," Tyrone groaned, holding still for a moment as he emptied his balls into Max. "You're such a good fuck."
Max was too busy recovering from his own orgasm to reply. He could feel Tyrone's hot cum leaking out of his ass as he lay on the bed panting. He felt completely empty and satisfied after finally having sex with Tyrone.
After a few moments, Tyrone rolled off of Max and got up to get dressed. He smiled down at Max as he put on his clothes. "That was fun," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Max nodded weakly, his body still trembling from the intense fuck he had just received. Tyrone laid down next to Max, panting heavily. Max turned to the side, resting his head on Tyrone's sweaty chest and quickly drifted off to sleep from exhaustion.
---
The next morning he woke up to sounds of running water and the sight of Tyrone no longer next to him on the bed.
As Max walked into the bathroom, he saw that Tyrone was already there, standing naked in front of the sink. He was brushing his teeth and didn't notice Max enter. Max felt a little thrill at catching Tyrone in such a private moment. He moved closer to Tyrone, watching him as he brushed his teeth.
"Hey," Tyrone said, spitting into the sink after finishing with the toothpaste.
He turned around to see Max standing behind him. He smiled when he saw that Max was still naked from their night together.
"Good morning," Max said, moving closer to Tyrone until their bodies were pressed against each other. He reached around and began to stroke Tyrone's cock through his wet hair.
Tyrone groaned softly as Max's hand moved up and down his shaft. "What do you want this morning?" he asked huskily.
"I just wanted to wake you up properly," Max replied, leaning in to kiss Tyrone's neck. He continued to stroke Tyrone's hardening cock while kissing and licking his neck and chest.
Tyrone reached down to grab the shampoo from the shower cabin, but Max grabbed his hand before he could reach it. "I don't think you need any shampoo," Max said with a mischievous grin. He began to suck on Tyrone's hard nipples, making him groan even louder.
"Fuck... I need a shower," Tyrone panted. He stepped back from Max and turned around to face the shower cabin. "Join me."
Max followed Tyrone into the large shower cabin. It was steamy from the hot water that was falling from the shower head. Tyrone had already lathered up his body, making it slick and shiny. He leaned against the wall of the shower, waiting for Max to join him.
Max stepped closer to Tyrone, pressing his naked body against his. He reached down and began to stroke Tyrone's hard cock, feeling its hot length in his hand.
"Mmm... That feels good," Tyrone groaned.
Max leaned up and kissed him passionately, their tongues dancing together in their mouths. As they made out, Max continued to stroke Tyrone's cock until it was throbbing in his hand.
After a few minutes of making out, Max knelt down in front of Tyrone. He took his cock into his mouth and began to suck on it, gently at first but then with increasing intensity. He used one hand to stroke the base of Tyrone's cock while he sucked on the tip.
"Oh fuck... That feels so good," Tyrone moaned. He put his hands on Max's head, guiding him as he bobbed up and down on his cock.
Max could feel Tyrone's hot cum beginning to flow into his mouth. He sucked harder, trying to coax as much of it out of Tyrone as possible. When Tyrone finally came, he groaned loudly while Max gulped down his load.
After Tyrone had finished cumming, Max stood up and kissed him again. They continued to make out for a few more minutes before Max stepped back to rinse off. He felt refreshed and ready for another day of training after the steamy shower session with Tyrone.
As they stepped out of the bathroom, Tyrone noticed that their clothes were neatly folded on the bed. He smiled at Max and said, "I guess you're ready to go then?"
Max nodded, feeling a little sad to be leaving so soon after such an intimate moment in the shower. He followed Tyrone out of the villa and they headed to the gym for another day of training.
---
For the next week, Max spent most of his time at the gym being trained by Tyrone. He had never been in such good shape before and was enjoying the feeling of his muscles growing and becoming stronger.
Tyrone complimented him on his progress every day, telling him that he was making fast improvements. He said that with a few more weeks of training, Max would be ready to do his first real battle.
Max was excited at the prospect of finally fighting and the immense pleasure it would bring him.
"Fuck babe, you look so hot now." Tyrone said, looking at Max with hungry eyes.
"You remember when you first came here?" he started, "look at you know" he continued.
Tyrone grabbed onto Max's arms who flexed them in response.
"Like what you see?" Max said with a cocky smirk
"I do" Tyrone replied as he groped Max's pecs.
"Don't be shy" Max egged him on as he lead Tyrone's hands down into his boxing shorts.
"Show me how much you like my body"
Tyrone smiled and pushed Max down onto his bed.
"Fuck babe, you're so-"
"Ssh..." Tyrone signaled, sealing Max's mouth with his lips as he passionately kissed him.
Max moaned into Tyrone's mouth as their tongues danced together in each other's mouths. He felt like he was melting under Tyrone's touch.
As they made out on the bed, Tyrone began to kiss his way down Max's body, moving from his mouth, to his chest, and then lower to his stomach. He kissed all over Max's body, leaving him feeling hot and wanting more.
When Tyrone reached Max's boxing shorts, he undid the button and pulled them down along with his underwear. His hard cock sprang up, bobbing in the air as Tyrone stared at it hungrily.
"You're so fucking hot," Tyrone said, before positioning his ass, ready to take Max's cock.
He slowly lowered himself down onto Max's cock, feeling it slide into his tight hole. He groaned in pleasure as he took more and more of Max's huge cock inside of him. When he finally bottomed out, he sat there for a moment, enjoying the fullness that came from being filled up completely.
Then he started to ride Max, bouncing up and down on his cock. He reached down and began to stroke his own dick as he fucked Max.
Max felt like he was in heaven. Tyrone's tight ass felt amazing as it slid up and down his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming each time Tyrone took his entire length inside of him.
"Fuck babe, you're so tight," Max groaned.
Tyrone smiled at Max, his eyes filled with desire and lust. He began to fuck him even faster, moving his ass up and down quickly on Max's cock.
Max reached up and grabbed Tyrone's hair, pulling him close to him so that they were chest-to-chest. He kissed him passionately, their tongues tangling together in a hot embrace.
Tyrone moaned into Max's mouth as he continued to fuck his cock. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to cumming.
Suddenly, Tyrone's eyes widened and he let out a long groan as he came on Max's chest. His ass tightened around Max's cock, milking it until he finally came too.
"Fuck babe," Max said, panting heavily after his own orgasm had subsided. "That was amazing."
---
Max woke up with a groan, feeling like he had just had the best dream ever. As he opened his eyes, he realized that it wasn't a dream after all. Tyrone was still naked and lying next to him on the bed. He smiled at Max as if to say "thank you" for last night before getting up to get dressed.
Max looked down at himself and noticed that he was wearing his red shorts again. It felt weird to be wearing them after all this time in Tyrone's villa, but it was a sign that he was ready to fight his first real opponent.
"Hey babe," Tyrone said, coming back over to the bed after getting dressed. "You ready for your first battle?"
Max nodded, feeling a little nervous but mostly excited. He had been training hard for this day and was now just one step away of becoming a full-fledged fighter.
"Let's go"
---
Max and Tyrone arrived at the arena, which was packed with people cheering for the upcoming fight. Max felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him as he stepped into the ring, looking at his opponent.
His opponent was a muscular guy in a leather chest piece and a loincloth. He had scars on his face and arms, making him look like a true warrior.
"Ready to get your ass kicked?" Max taunted, feeling confident that he could win the fight.
The opponent grinned at Max, then nodded to signal that he was ready to start. The bell rang and the two of them began to circle the ring, sizing each other up.
Max saw an opening in his opponent's defenses and lunged forward with a flying tackle. He hit his opponent square in the chest and sent him flying back into the ropes. His world stood still as an immense wave of pleasure hit Max. He had gotten used to the effects of the curse when sparring but this was the first time experiencing the real deal.
Time continued as the crowd cheered loudly as Max stood valiantly over his downed opponent.
"What a great first round," Tyrone said, slapping Max on the back. "You've got this, babe."
Max grinned at Tyrone, feeling like a million bucks. He turned to face his opponent again and saw him getting up and ready to fight once more.
"Ready for round two?" Max asked, looking even more smug now.
The opponent lunged forward with an uppercut, but Max ducked under the attack. He then kicked his opponent in the thighs, sending him to the ground. The crowd cheered again as Max stood over his defeated opponent.
"And the winner is... MAX!" the announcer declared, raising Max's hand into the air.
Max felt like a million bucks as he basked in the cheers of the crowd. He had won his first fight and was on his way to becoming a true experienced fighter.
"So, what's next?" Max asked, eagerly looking forward to the next round of battles; to the next wave of pleasure.
Tyrone smiled at Max, "I know first-hand the pleasure of a first real battle but you've got take a break for today and enjoy your victory. Tomorrow will find someone else again to battle, for now let's take a break."
"I know something else we could do for the rest of the day" Tyrone said.
Max didn't even have to ask what he meant. A tent had already started forming in his shorts long before he had a chance to finish his session.
What would happen next is another yet another round, though this time in a different place and different setting.
---
Max had lost count of how long he had been living in this new world. He was enjoying his time here with his boyfriend Tyrone. They both spent most of their days either fighting, fucking or training for the next fight.
Max had recently started his first week in the arena and it had gone well. He had won every fight and got a lot of points. The second week wasn't as lucky. Max had lost half his fights which meant he had to wait another two weeks before he could challenge for the top spot again.
During those two weeks, Max and Tyrone spent their time either fucking or training hard in the gym. When they weren't doing one of those two things they were relaxing at home, cuddling on the bed naked or watching some TV in the living room. They had gotten into a routine of sorts, which Max enjoyed immensely.
Max couldn't believe that he was now a muscular stud in this new world and with his hot boyfriend to boot. He had been transported here against his will and was practically forced to fight every day but at least he had Tyrone to keep him company.
A lot had happened in a short span of time but he had not lamented it at all. His old life that he had back when he entered the arcade is now gone.
Now he enjoyed a simple life together with his new boyfriend in a world where the only that matters is to fight.
-
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